


Proof of Death

by LCWells, Maggie_Nowakowska



Series: Star Wars [8]
Category: Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Star Wars - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 08:29:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6697414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LCWells/pseuds/LCWells, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maggie_Nowakowska/pseuds/Maggie_Nowakowska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the destruction of the second Death Star, the Alliance and Mon Mothma looks to the future, including missing ships, the paralyzed Empire, and the future of the New Republic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Decisions

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written in 2009.
> 
> There are three long stories in this series. The first was "For the Good of the Galaxy." The second is "Ceeli." The third is "Proof of Death." 
> 
> There are other short stories that may be published later.

Mon Mothma, former Senator of Chandrila, now Commander of the Alliance to Restore the Republic, closed her eyes for a second as she concentrated on the information dancing above the desk in her small private office. There were too many holos, too many messages that she had to absorb. For the last four days after the destruction of the second Death Star over Endor, she had been dealing with such incoming data and there were more yet to be looked at.

The worlds of star systems across the Empire were reaching out to the Alliance. They believed that the Emperor was dead, that Darth Vader was gone. 

_Or do they? Timidity is the one constant in these messages,_ she thought. The destruction of Alderaan was burned into their leaderships’ collective memories. But -- had the systems known that the Emperor was building a new Death Star? Corellia, certainly– they built so many of the components. The others? Mon Mothma had no doubt that she still had to make the others believe that the Empire was broken. 

Their people somehow knew. Celebrations had exploded across the galaxy, confounding -- and even engaging -- local Imperial troops. Rebel High Command had their own day of joy, then went back to work spreading the information. 

Imperial Fleet officers were exchanging shocked messages, many of them monitored by Rebel technicians. She wished she understood the Empire’s military better. _Be honest with yourself, woman! Even before, even as the Republican fleet with Jedi in command, they had always been the enemy. All of them!_ She thought fiercely, remembering Bail Organa’s powerless anger over the Fleet Palpatine had assembled to fight a war none of them had suspected that Palpatine himself had begun. _All but one. No, two -- no, more than that -- be sensible, Mothma._

But as a group, the military were her enemy and she had to out think them, to make sure they didn’t destroy the infrastructure before we remake it into the Alliance. 

She concentrated on the Endor holo from General Solo, Princess Leia and Commander Skywalker. 

_This is very thin,_ she mused, irritated by the report. And obviously filed before they started to celebrate. Somewhere, she knew, there was a more detailed report to be had. If they thought that this would suffice – and Leia knew how to write a report if Solo and Skywalker didn’t – there was really only one thing to do. 

_And it will get me off this ship._

A large surge of grief that sat to the side in her mind came alive, threatening to break her concentration.

_I need to escape._

Then she smashed down the grief, pushed it away, smothered it. _Not now. I don’t have time now._ With a wave of her hand, she snuffed several of the holos. She had a meeting to go to, one of great importance, and now she knew what had to be done. 

Proof of death. She needed to know that the Emperor is dead. And what Commander Skywalker was hiding. He barely spoke on the report. Jedi so often had known things the Senate didn’t. Now he the only Jedi she had left to tell her what she needed to hear. 

“Senator?” Her chief aide, Ceeli Montasi, stood in the doorway, her right hand hovering over her note bracelet, awaiting any new orders. “The meeting is now.”

Mothma stood up, smoothing her blouse over her pants so it hung properly. She’d always worn dresses before taking over after Bail Organa died; now she wore what everyone else did, and enjoyed it. She saved the gowns for sending people out on suicide missions, for presiding over the funerals of the dead or, at last, for celebrating the end of the Empire.

What she was going into now was her fight, one she was going to win.

She was the Commander of the Alliance and they were going to find out exactly what had happened to the Emperor and Darth Vader for the Alliance to broadcast far and wide. 

And she was going to find out what happened to the _Crystaline_ and its commander, chief Intelligence commander, General Crix Madine, even if her fleet brought back frozen microscopic chunks of his body for her to mourn. 

_But he’s not dead,_ she vowed, ignoring the sound of the door sliding decisively shut behind her. _I’m sure of it._

 

Colonel Michael Grandia, acting chief Intelligence officer, stepped into the executive staff meeting bay on the command level of the Alderaan and took a seat at the oval review table from where he could clearly see both the Alliance Commander and Admiral Ackbar. He was just moments late, but the tension in the room was already too thick for anyone to pay much attention to unimportant interruptions.

Mon Mothma was studying the Mon Calamari with a controlled expression that would have made Grandia go under the table. Ackbar finished speaking and the Commander picked up the thread on the next beat, the obvious dissention between them cloaked in diplomatic language. "I'm happy the Valarians are now proclaiming their allegiance to us,” she said, “but their ships are not particularly useful if we have to upgrade their weapons as soon as they arrive. It might be better if they continue to guard their area against some unrest."

"That is true," the gruff Calamari acknowledged, "however, they can do lesser work, such as transporting prisoners to the camps – "

"Not if they can't fight," Mon Mothma contradicted him. "And we don’t have those prison planets established yet. They will need one of our ships to guard them. At the moment, we don't have many of those to spare."

"If we are going to use our fleet searching debris fields instead of attacking the Empire in its time of weakness, that is true," Ackbar replied bluntly. "We lost many ships over Endor and in the outer ring battle as well, and so– "

"Finding out what happened to the _Crystaline_ and the other ships in that outer battle is not irrelevant, Admiral." 

_Bad move, Admiral,_ Grandia thought, controlling an instinct to flinch at the exchange. Why not just hit her where it hurt most – again – to make sure she knew who was in control? Everyone at the table knew why Mon Mothma wanted the ships searching near the outer rim. 

"Our pilots have already retrieved many living survivors from the battle over Endor,” the Commander continued, “There is no reason to think there aren’t survivors from the other ones."

_Points to the Senator,_ Grandia allowed, for confronting the insinuation and having a good response. 

"There are better uses for our ships!" the Mon Calimari argued, impatience shading his carapace a darker red.

"Than leaving the survivors to die slowly and alone? " Mon Mothma shot back. "Would you have the history of the creation of the New Republic tainted by the abandonment of our people, Admiral? We need to be sure of who’s alive or dead -- _including_ the Emperor."

_A nice segue off the personal and back to the political,_ Grandia noted, mentally saluting his boss.

"I want to make sure he's really dead as well!" Ackbar exclaimed in the loud Calimari style that read to humans as slightly panicked, but which Grandia knew meant that the Admiral was moving past irritation into true anger. Whether that feeling was aimed at Mon Mothma or his very real and well-known hatred of Emperor Palpatine was difficult to judge. "There are all sorts of rumors about Vader as well,” Ackbar continued. “What about that that cryptic message from Commander Skywalker? _'The Emperor is dead; so is Darth Vader.'_ He could have given us a little more information! Even the after-actions reports were --"

“Flimsy,” Mon Mothma agreed suddenly in accord with him. 

Grandia spoke up. "Commanders, there's proof to be found that the Emperor is out of the picture in Fleet chatter.” He saw Mon Mothma glance at him, almost in reproof for speaking. He didn't take offence. He knew, through Ceeli, that right now she hated everyone in the Intelligence section; loved their work, disliked him irrationally. Madine should be giving this report. He continued, “The Emperor's trip here wasn't well known and now the Star Destroyer captains are talking to the military governor in this sector, Moff Turner, who is questioning Coruscant."

"We need to find out what actually happened on Endor," Mon Mothma concluded, argument over. "It's time for some more information and at an indisputable level. I will go down and get it."

The words rang around the room for a second before a bubble of protest exploded. 

Grandia hadn't expected this, but he knew that she would get her way. It was the right thing to do. 

And it would get her away from this ship. 

 

The Ewok hut was darker than space at night. No moonlight filtered through the thick roof of the ancient trees of Endor. No leaves in the lower redwood canopy glowed with borrowed light from the perpetual torches that climbed along the stairs into the aerial village. With its doorway turned away from the common grounds far below, the hut was a haven of sensual delights for nocturnal lovers.

Leia didn’t mind that she couldn’t see her hand. She felt Han’s warm body the length of her own and, under her invisible hand laying on his chest, she could feel his heart beat. The suede leather sheet that covered their nakedness softly flowed over them. The heavy furs on top kept the lovers warm and secure.

The Days After Everything Changed had been full, beginning with a slow recovery from the celebrations after Palpatine died. In public, Leia referred to the battle the same as the others, as the Battle over Endor, the Final Death Star Blow, the End of the Empire. But to herself, it was the day that the Emperor, the man who had purposely turned the galaxy inside out, died. The Day He Went Away, the man whose evil dreams invented the ugliness that blew apart a whole world, her world, her father.

Her father. 

Luke had insisted on talking to her about that again - about Darth Vader who he claimed was their real father. He told her what he knew about Anakin Skywalker, a Jedi who chose Palpatine’s dark paths of power over the struggles and light of the Jedi way; about the children left behind to be raised by other people who would keep them safe from the Emperor and Darth Vader. 

Were there other children? Leia didn’t know – wasn’t sure she would ever be able to tell. Maybe the Emperor had had something in his tower, some list of Jedi who weren’t dead. _One more reason to go in there.I don’t want to go there. Luke will have to do it._

What Luke told her was only a little more than she had learned from her father, Bail Organa, and Queen Breha of Alderaan. Her _father_ , and the mother who had raised her. They were dead now, lost in the past, mythical names among the Alderaani Exiles. 

Darth Vader had been ordering such deaths yesterday – thousands of them - and was very real to many people throughout the galaxy today.

And because of that, she had to tell Han the truth about her parentage. Her biological parentage.

She had insisted that she would be the one to tell him. Luke studied her a moment then, the same searching look as two nights before when he had claimed that her renown for insight was a Forceful gift from a father they shared.

She felt Han take a breath as if to say something, and she smiled. She hadn’t expected him to be a talker. He would lay back, one arm around her, the other folded back under his head as he stared at the ceiling and talked to her as he never did outside. On the Falcon, he had told her how he learned to fly, how g-force felt in raw sub-orbital fighters and how badly he had brought down the first freighter he sat pilot on. On Bespin, the stories were about his adventures with Lando on the _Falcon_ and how, at last, he came to fly that bird away as its new captain. The night before the battle and after Luke had vanished, Han simply held her tight, misunderstanding her stunned anxiety, telling her that he, too, feared the coming day.

Lately, they had been too tired to do more than lie here and murmur happily until falling asleep.

She had to tell Han before he said anything, before she would make a hard job worse by interrupting a sharing that she held too dear to taint with dreadful news.

“Han,” she said, her cheek against a scar above his breast (from a Han and Lando adventure, if she remembered correctly, and she was not going to let herself be distracted), “I have to talk with you about something.”

“Hmm? Now?” His voice was lower in the dark than Captain Solo’s during the day. Leia heard the future in its timbre, the sound of years yet to come when they would sit somewhere and watch children go about the life Han and she had created for them.

Children. Leia raised herself up on her elbow and brought her hand up to Han’s chin, turning it toward her. She couldn’t see his face, not really, but she could feel it; the muscles that crinkled when he squinted, trying to see her, too; the day’s stubble that rolled up, scratching her fingertips, when he smiled.

“Can’t wait for morning, huh?”

“No.”

He captured her hand and kissed her palm. She smiled in anticipation but forged onward. 

“No, not that. Listen. I was upset the other night, remember?” 

“Yep.” He caught her hand again, kissed it again. 

“Luke told me something then. About us -- him and me, not you.”

She felt his arm across her back tense, the hand that rested on her hip press harder so slightly that she doubted he knew it. The automatic claim of possession brought Leia a moment of calm – and amusement - before she continued, “About us being brother and sister.”

He tipped his head back to look at the ceiling. Her hand slid down, along his throat as she waited. He was thinking, and better she heard first what he imagined she meant. 

Finally, he said, “So?” and chuckled. “You worried about that kiss on Hoth? Hell, I know places where whole families –“

“No, no, Han, not that.” But she was glad to know that he thought funny a memory about which she wasn’t terribly fond. And, she thought suddenly, whatever did outlier Luke think? Then, again, she had heard similar stories about isolated human communities on the Rim. But – she was getting distracted. Leia took her hand back and stopped Han’s restless fingers from slipping down her thigh. “Listen to me.”

“Yes, ma’am, Princess. Hey, does this make the boy wonder a prince?”

“No!” she said too quickly.

Did she know that? What about when she was very young and persistent and her father (Bail Organa, who raised her!) had assured her that she was indeed the daughter of a Queen. Years later, she had cherished the sweet moment; but had he been telling the truth, telling part of a story he had never been able to finish? Who was she? 

Han was waiting. She could tell that she finally had his attention from his breathing, from the way his hand absently rubbed her skin, and from his wary, “So?” 

“I’ve always known I was adopted,” Leia began, sliding her fingers between his and clasping his hand. “I have a faint memory –“ Maybe just a dream, she realized, the fantasy of a child assured she was a princess. “—of my mother. She was very sad. That’s all, just that she was Mother and unhappy.”

“Know that story, babe. Words and music and no author.”

“Two of a kind, eh?”

“That’s why we get along so well, agreeing on everything and never, ever, fighting. C’mere.” He pulled her hard against him and his kiss was fierce. Their free hands still clasped, she could not push away and his breath was hot on hers. “You worried about who you really are, little lady?” he asked. “You think you can scare me off? You want to play, ‘You show me yours and I’ll show you mine?’ You really want to hear _that_ story of mine?”

He didn’t offer any time to answer and when it was her turn to lie back, panting, on the damp bedding with Han’s arm stretched across her breasts, Leia thought, _I can’t do this. I may have only the time between now and when he finds out, but I won’t lose that time, I won’t! ___

__She stared into the dark, unable to sleep or to wipe away the tears that slid down the side of her face into her hair. If she didn’t try to wipe the wet away, he wouldn’t notice._ _

__“So,” she heard softly by her ear. He hadn’t moved, didn’t move; neither did she. “What’s so terrible that you can’t tell me and that I’m going to have to go kill Luke for telling you?”_ _

__“Don’t joke.”_ _

__“I’m not. I don’t like people who make you cry.”_ _

__“We’re twins. We were taken away, split up, hidden. Darth Vader is our father.”_ _

__Outside, the nightly wind had begun to rustle the vines that grew around and over the hut. Leia listened to them until, finally, Han spoke._ _

__“That’s impossible. I know all the pilots and I’ve heard all the old war stories about Kenobi and his hot shot Skywalker buddy. Luke’s father. You heard them, too, after Yavin. Jedi blood and all that about Luke making the sure shot.”_ _

__Leia shook her head. “Anakin Skywalker turned on his fellow Jedi. He betrayed them, killed them for Palpatine. Called himself Darth Vader. His children were taken to Alderaan and to Tatooine to be hidden from him._ _

__“An old Jedi told Luke - ”_ _

__“Yes, General Kenobi but not only him. Han – there was another Jedi who survived. Luke said he was trained by him. There may be more out there.”_ _

__And as she expected, Han immediately thought the same as she. “Shit,” he swore, rolling back to lie beside her, staring into the dark above them. “I thought they were all gone long ago. What if –“_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__What if someone found out about Vader? What if a rumor started? What damage would the truth about its heroes do to a newly young Republic? What damage to Luke, and Leia, and Han personally?_ _

___I am Bail Organa’s daughter! I was raised as a Princess of Alderaan!_ Taught how to be diplomatic, how to fight, how to lead a rebellion against all the evil an Emperor and a Sith Lord could invent. What mattered Jedi blood and an inheritance of violence? And gifts that called a person out, able to use the Force as Luke did, to have insight and charisma that drew the loyalty of hardened troops to a girl not yet out of her teens -- and who could find a young man hanging from a finial at the bottom of floating city?_ _

__Leia felt a sigh eons old envelop her heart and she covered her face with her hands to contain it. Everything had changed; nothing that had gone before could guarantee anything she had hoped for her tomorrows. Who would listen to, who could believe in and love Darth Vader’s daughter?_ _

__“There’s going to be talk, Leia, about all of us.” Again, that low rumble of a voice. “Now that the war is over, they’ll gossip. People will probably look the other way for an Organa with a spazz in just one of the circuits, but if you’re staying with me… Mon Mothma or Madine might figure I’m okay for what I’ve been worth to them –“he took a deeper breath “-- but out there is hard data on me that most people would think long and careful about. It’s gonna come out, Leia, and I’m not the son of Han Solo, I am him. That and your news – it could be dangerous for you. Too dangerous to – stop that!”_ _

__Sliding her hand up his throat, Leia’s fingers found Han’s chin and felt along the scar that ran across it. Leaning in to kiss him, she murmured, “I wouldn’t worry about Madine – he’s been an Imperial Special Forces officer most his life. He can’t stand in judgment over _you_.” She placed her hand on his chest, feeling his beating heart. She hadn’t heard that “hard data” story yet; she would, one night out of all the nights to come. “You’re a nice man, Han.” _ _

__He laughed, more of a murmur._ _

__When she was snuggled close against him once again and nearly asleep, she heard him ask something about plans._ _

__“I said,” he repeated, “do you have any idea what you’re going to do when –“_ _

__“No. Ask Luke. Go to sleep.”_ _

__“Great. The brains of this outfit.” He paused, then, “Have you noticed that he doesn’t exactly hang around long enough to talk to these days?”_ _

__“Go to sleep, Han.”_ _

__“I love you, Sweetheart.” He tugged one of the remaining braids in her hair. “No matter what. No matter when.”_ _

__“I know, Hot Shot, I know.”_ _

__

__Grandia watched as Mon Mothma boarded a small shuttle with four of her own guards, and as, beyond the bay shield, what would be a protective cloud of X-wing escorts were launched. Enough Alliance fighters throughout the planetary system would guarantee that the shuttle would be able to reach Endor safely, but Ackbar was taking no chances._ _

__The Calamari haumphed as he stood by Grandia. "It should be a short trip. Calrissian can bring her back with him.”_ _

__"He’s already on the way out," Grandia told him, adding casually, "I hear that Solo and his band are still celebrating, which is why they’re still on site.”_ _

__"They fought long and hard, Colonel," Ackbar said defensively. "General Solo is a real hero."_ _

__Grandia wasn't about to get into that battle. Having sat in on several of the meetings between Han Solo and Madine, he had formed his own opinion of both Corellians. Madine should have led the raid. If he had, he might be alive now._ _

__"The Commander will come back safely. She has to," Grandia said, his voice deepening on the last words. "Or I'll be haunted the rest of my life.”_ _

__Ackbar sniffed. "Ghosts. Phooey. Only humans believe in such nonsense. I suggest that you get back to work." He turned and left before Grandia could reply._ _

__Grandia grimaced. More work? No, some sleep. While Hunting for some trace, some hope, that Madine had survived despite the _Crystaline_ blowing up after fighting two Star Destroyers, he'd pulled longer hours than he should and stay sharp. _ _

__On his way to the corridors that led back into the massive star cruiser, Grandia was surprised to see Montesi standing by the bay exit door. Mon Mothma's chief aide was usually welded to her boss’ side. She seemed to be waiting on him, though, and that meant his day was steadily improving, especially when she smiled slightly as he walked over._ _

__Grandia had liked the Alderaani from the first moment they’d met during her rescue from the Empire’s insatiable paranoia. Aside from his appreciation of her no-nonsense attitude and well-turned figure, Montesi was a useful and powerful conduit for those who wanted to pass information (with any tags) to the Alliance leader, or to get information that Mon Mothma allowed to leak out._ _

__He glanced back where the ship had vanished into the starry sky. "Why didn't you go with her?" he asked._ _

__"She told me to stay and work with you," Montesi replied calmly as he fell in beside her and, together, they stepped through the entry. "She will need the latest information no matter where she is, in case she has to return."_ _

__"Captain Klimet -- "_ _

__"Has a secure com line to pass information. What have you heard about the  
prison camps?"_ _

__"We sent some ships to secure the Alderaani camps, and the major ones with our troops -- as was planned before our attack.” Grandia stopped in the corridor, ignoring the passing troopers and other aides who politely went around them. “I haven't heard about any survivors of the outer battle."_ _

__Both of them knew to whom he referred. Montesi chose to be specific. "No word on the _Crystaline_ , then?" _ _

__"None. The area's still very dangerous.” He made a cautionary gesture. “Crawling with Imperials. Debris everywhere."_ _

__She looked back at the empty bay they had just left. "She says he's alive."_ _

__He nodded. "I know, from what she’s asked for.” He paused. “How does she know?"_ _

__"She doesn't. She’s living on hope.” Discomfort flickered through her usual reticence; Ceeli Montesi didn’t like hunches, let alone flights of fancy._ _

__"We’re getting new reinforcements in a couple of days to search -- " He stopped. Her attention was back on Grandia, giving her irritation something to focus on: him._ _

__“Your job, Colonel, is to find the proof.”_ _

__"We are short of ships, Mistress Montesi," he snapped, pointing out a reality she was obviously wishing away._ _

__"That doesn't really matter to her,” came her flat, professional reply, “or me. You need to find out the truth -- "_ _

__"We have already changed the security codes -- " he began to report, matching her mood but she interrupted again._ _

__"Crix Madine is a symbol of more than just the rebellion, Colonel.” Her lecture mode was on high, masking her worry. An irritating habit. “If he’s alive, the Imperials can make an example of him, distract the military’s attention while they install a new Emperor. He’s their traitor -- in their world, he's an example of what shouldn’t happen.”_ _

__"I know that!" he said, his own frustration erupting._ _

__“It is more than just Mon Mothma’s personal hope, Michael!"_ _

__However annoying, her recitation was familiar to anyone working for a fast-thinking leader who was always one step ahead of everyone else. Whatever his opinion of their Commander’s interest in her General -- and any attentions the man returned – Grandia understood that both of them acted first on their obligations. First, second, third – then maybe never on their personal affairs._ _

__He also knew that Montesi had a personal interest in the General’s welfare. Madine had saved her life when one of his raids intercepted the Imperial fleet ship taking her to an interrogation center and an appointment that she was unlikely to have survived._ _

__"What do you think, Ceeli?"_ _

__A flurry of Alloran IT specs passed, their long crown feathers flickering with interwoven data filiments streaming energetically after them, filling the hallway far more than their number warranted._ _

__Montesi took advantage of the distraction to look away from a mutual proof of concern._ _

__Grandia noticed that her hair had grown long enough after its Imperial prisoner hack to be tucked into tight braids against the back of her head. He’d heard that she had once been able to wear a golden brown braided crown. Alderaani women seemed to prefer long hair; he would have liked to have seen that braid undone. But -- best to put away that thought just now._ _

__"What do you really think?” he said when the hall was clear again. “Is he alive?"_ _

__The woman was quiet, distracted a second longer, then looked up at him. Ceeli shrugged. "She believes it."_ _

__He nodded. Both of them were not going to say what each believed -- that Madine was dead and gone. "I'll find out what happened," Grandia promised. Hoped. Said anyway, no matter both their doubts._ _

__

__Crix Madine knew he was alive because that ninny Nethercutt was holding his hand and no afterlife would have condemned him to have to listen to the weedy computer tech tell him – repeatedly -- that he was going to be okay._ _

__But the rest of his senses were fuzzy and every time he tried to remember what had happened, he couldn't pin anything down._ _

__So he decided to open his eyes and find out where he was. It smelled familiar._ _

__It was familiar. He saw, with a shot of terror, that he was aboard an Imperial vessel. He knew the lines of the cargo bays and the low lighting that came on when it was normally full of cargo. What was he doing here? The Empire knew he was a traitor. He should be dead._ _

__Then his ears hurt when Nethercutt announced, loudly, "He's awake!"_ _

__"Oh, shut up," Madine muttered. A second later, he knew it didn't matter how loud he'd said it because there was a general rise in the babble around him._ _

__Madine made an attempt to sit up and stopped as a wave of pain went through him. Shoulder, ribs, everything hurt to breath for a second. He steeled himself and tried again. "I want to... ah."_ _

__"Let me help you," said a woman on the other side from Nethercutt. Between him and her, Madine was able to sit up slightly._ _

__Looking down the cargo bay, he saw pilots and soldiers, the variety of the Alliance member-world families showing in the twenty or so prisoners who were now watching him with a mixture of despair, curiosity and hope. A young man who stepped from behind privacy hangings at bay’s end caught his eye; by the time the trooper had found a way through the tightly packed prisoners and had knelt down beside Madine, his muzzy mind finally put a face to the man_ _

__Smythe. Not a trooper. One of the pilots from the _Crystaline_. From the bruising on his right cheekbone and face, he’d taken some damage. _ _

__"Who’s here?" Madine croaked feeling dryness in this throat. "Where are we?"_ _

__"We're aboard the _Paoli_ , sir. Small ship with some TIEs attached. Basically just an Imperial search-and-rescue even if they don’t call it that.”_ _

__"The battle's over then?"_ _

__Smythe shrugged. "As far as we know, sir. Who won - that we don't know."_ _

__"Who's in command?" Madine could feel his attention slipping. The pain in his shoulder and chest intensified the longer he sat up._ _

__"Here? A Captain Broghan. He's got a Lieutenant Ehiliam who keeps adding prisoners in here." Smythe looked around at the others. "It's getting crowded."_ _

__“The ship’s for pilot recovery," Madine said. "No room for prisoners really. "_ _

__"They’ve picked up a lot. The landing bay was crowded with pods from both sides.”_ _

__“Lie down, sir," the woman warned. "You’re looking worse."_ _

__He glanced at her. "You were in the –“ He flinched at the pain. Moving his neck hurt. “In the pod. The one we escaped on."_ _

__"Yes, sir. I'm Shura. Used to work with the pilots on the X-Wings on the _Crystaline_." He felt his nose tickle; her hair was actually long feathers. Sneezing would hurt more than stifling it, so he caught it and felt blinding pain go through him from the movement. When his vision cleared, he asked, “You're an Alloran?” He heard – feared – the weakness in his voice, but the woman gave him some small hope. “Are you a clear telepath?"_ _

__She shook her head and he felt dizzy. Too much movement in front of him. "Only with my kind, sir, and there are none of them here now. Mazzan died in the battle."_ _

__He felt a pang of sympathy but it faded into black spots as the dizziness grew. "Too bad. I wish I could tell her...Tell them…" With an effort, he looked back at Smythe. "We wait then. Wait for... "_ _

__“Enough,” her voice ordered. Madine felt himself laid down gently. For all her fragile appearance, Shura was strong. "Sleep. There's nothing we can do right now, sir."_ _

__He gripped her hand feeling the soft feathers between her fingers that were a mark of her planet. "Tell her I'm alive..."_ _

__"Who, sir?"_ _

__The blackness enfolded him._ _


	2. Strands of the truth

"General Solo?" came a polite inquiry, and Han swiveled, his coat half off his shoulders. He'd just come in from hunting for Imperial soldiers who were trapped and still fighting in the area around the newly claimed Alliance base on Endor. The Ewoks were good hunters, but the Imperials were better. Once Han and his team had sobered up from the party and shipped off the first set of prisoners, they discovered that they had a second job to do. 

The question came from Captain Dubow, leader of the troops that Madine had assigned to the Endor mission, and he was looking as disconcerted as ever Han had seen him. A stolid man, Dubow was almost the perfect officer, Madine had explained one long night. He could take the initiative, do the job, and bring his troop back alive. _So,_ Han asked himself now, _what was causing him some problems?_

"Yeah?"

"A shuttle is landing and requests to speak specifically to you, Princess Leia and Commander Skywalker," Dubow said. "It’s from the _Alderaan._ "

Han froze for a fraction of a second. A shuttle from the command ship? Then he pulled his coat back on. "Any idea of who is coming?"

"No, sir," Dubow replied. "That is suspicious, sir."

Han occasionally suspected that the man thought he wasn't up to his rank. Then again, considering who trained Dubow -- well Han had freely admitted, during that indiscreet drinking bout with Madine, how he envied the other’s intense military training. Madine had countered that Imperial training left a man far more rigid in his thinking, and that was why Han was going to lead the attack on Endor. For a second, Han felt proud that he’d been chosen - then he realized what that meant. 

And why was he thinking about General Madine? Ah, yes. Dubow. "Well, have you told the princess?"

"Yes, sir. She's on her way to the clearing. We have not found Commander Skywalker." 

Which wasn't surprising. Luke had vanished into the woods, not to be found for the last day and a half. Han was going to have to talk to him about that. "Don't worry. He'll show up. When are they landing?"

"Now, sir, at the base."

Han slicked back his hair, and settled his gun belt more firmly, then pulled up his hood. "Let's go."

 

The shuttle looked like every shuttle that the Alderaan ever put out, and it settled with precision on the cleared land that the Alliance had designated as a landing area. Leia stood a few steps off the tamped ground where the exit ramp would rest. She wore a hooded Ewok over-throw that her arms held tightly wrapped tightly around her body against the chilly, pervasive mist. Han smiled to see her actually looking too tall for an outfit.

Barely shaded by the hood, Leia’s face brightened with her own welcoming smile as Han walked up. "Any idea of our guest?" she asked when he stood beside her.

"Dubow says he doesn’t know," Han admitted. "Which means.... anything."

The ship’s door opened and ten men came out, their weapons held ready. An officer appeared, walked down the ramp to speak with Dubow, who saluted crisply, then went back up into the shuttle. 

_What is Klimet doing here?_ Even as Han recognized the man detailed to protecting the top commanders of the Alliance by the markings on his clothing, he heard Leia catch her breath. "Mon Mothma?"

There was Klimet again, standing on the top ramp beside a slender woman who waited on her captain’s sign to proceed. What could be seen of her dark hair under a cap was ruffled by a wind that also blew about the poncho she wore. She caught the grey weave, folded it across her body, as she examined her surroundings. 

“She look okay to you?” Han asked softly, startling Leia from the way she turned to look at him. “What’s happened? D’you know?”

But the Commander caught sight of them then and Leia’s small shake of her head faded under Mon Mothma’s attention. With a smile, and with Klimet by her side, she walked down the ramp and across the muddy ground to greet them. "I'm glad to see you both," Mothma said, stepping out of the tight circle that the troop formed up protectively around her. She held out her hands, adding "Glad that we're all here alive."

Leia touched Mothma’s fingertips, a familiar gesture on Chandrila. Han felt her relax, saw her shoulders soften and suddenly realized that she'd tensed as soon as Mothma appeared. _Great. Both of them out of sorts._

"Let's get inside, Commander," he said with a squint up at the mist that was getting thick, getting ready to be real rain. “It ain’t a fancy station, but it keeps the rain out.”

Leia led the way over and into what was essentially a box, the landing area's small touch-down building, constructed from debris from the Imperial platform. The Rebels didn’t plan staying long enough to build their reception center. 

Two troops came inside with Klimet and Dubrow; the others stood the perimeter. Mon Mothma shook the damp off her poncho as she walked to the back of the small room where a stand-up com station glowed STANDBY green. Giving the small room one more searching look, she turned to face Han and Leia, asking with genial authority,. "Where is Luke Skywalker? I need to ask you all some questions."

 _Now, why is everyone looking for Luke all of a sudden?_ Han wondered. _Maybe this time I’ll really have to knock the kid upside the head._

He noticed then that Leia hadn’t replied and the silence was growing awkward. “We’ll put out a call for him, Commander,” Han said briskly. He gave Dubrow a quick side-glance, but the man’s eyes were on Mon Mothma. Han looked back at the woman, too.

Mothma nodded. “Thank you, General. I read your report. You all did an excellent job. These Ewoks you speak of – are they here?”

Han was suddenly aware that the roof was leaking. The rain was falling hard enough to be heard outside and, very shortly, they were all going to be very wet. “Let’s go to their village,” he suggested. “It’s more solid. Um – “ Han looked around and saw Klimet. If this was going to be a chat between the Commander and her General, he might as well take advantage of the professional exchange. “We’ve been cleaning up Imperial remnants for a week, Captain. We can use all the help you can give.”

“How about the ship?” Klimet answered briskly himself. He looked around at the sagging roof then pouring rain outside as if to second Han’s assessment. “We can continue there.”

“Better the village,” Leia said unexpectedly, “if we’re waiting for Luke. We’ve got Imperial speeder bikes. Commander - you can ride with Han. Captain Klimet, there are extras at the village so you can have your own when we get there. For now -- ”

“He can ride with me,” said Dubow. 

Mothma studied Leia for a second, and then nodded, “Of course.”

Too aware of the precious cargo holding tightly around his waist, Han was vastly relieved fifteen minutes later when they drove into the Ewok village. He came to a soft stop well into the center clearing. The rain had let up, but the trees dripped like leaky pipes. 

Dubrow’s droid chatter probably tipped off C-3PO that a shuttle had landed; he was waiting at the base of the village common-hold tree and came out chattering to greet them, his honor guard of Ewoks close on all sides. “Oh, Master Han!” If the droid could gasp, he would have when he spotted Solo’s passenger. “The Commander! Senator Mon Mothma! I am so honored!”

“Thanks, Goldenrod,” Han called hastily. “Why don’t you introduce her to the chief?”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Threepio waved his arms, calling, “Come! Come! We have a Very Important Visitor!” Then he repeated it in staccato bursts that seemed to panic no one but himself. The Ewoks were not at all taken aback by the sudden influx of new soldiers. They seemed to be used to it. 

The Commander slid off the saddle behind Han and was resettling her poncho, then tidying her cap, when the aged leader of the Ewoks and his entourage walked up slowly and greeted the visitors’ entrance with great dignity.

”Commander,” Threepio began when the Chief had settled back on his heels, ready to be introduced properly, “This is Chief Chirpa of this village and three sister clusters on the south side of this ridge, all of which brought many brave warriors to fight with the walking crawfish. They mean the Stormtroopers, Commander.”

Mon Mothma’s expression was respectful and grave.

The droid then started busily explaining Mon Mothma to the Chief, whose eyes widened. Before he could finish, a younger female Ewok beside Chirpa piped up with a question. C-3PO blinked a couple times, then turned back to the Commander. “Kneesaa asks, Senator, if you are well?”

Mon Mothma looked startled for a split second, then her face regained its diplomatic poise. “I’m fine, thank you. C3PO, please tell everyone that I’m honored to meet Chief Chirpa – and Kneesaa -- and all the Chief’s family and neighbors.”

Time to let C-3PO do what he was best at: diplomatic protocol. Han stepped back and looked around. Where had Leia gone to? He was sure he had heard her bike behind them; she drove a ride as hard he did. Han smiled at the thought, but right now, he needed to find out find out what Mon Mothma was doing here. There was one person who ought to know.

He found Klimet reading messages on his comlink. The Captain looked up on reflex when approached and before he could return to his task, Han put his hand out to touch the officer’s arm. “Why is she here?" he whispered. 

Klimet looked back at the diplomatic gathering momentarily bathed in sunshine. “Odd weather,” he said out loud, then whispered, "Have you heard the news?' Han shook his head. "Everyone's humoring her because she thinks General Madine’s alive even though the _Crystaline_ was blown up. Had a big fight on the _Alderaan_ , her and Ackbar, and now she’s out here and he’s in command of the fleet.”

Han whistled low. Klimet nodded his own amazement. Both watched as Chief Chirpa began a tour of the settlement and the polite gathering disappeared into the village proper. Then Klimet returned to his messages and Han considered the man’s news. 

Now he understood why the Commander of the Alliance had looked badly strained when she came off the ship. He was probably one of the very few who knew that Madine had been deeply in love with Mon Mothma. And from the look of it, Solo decided, Mon Mothma had loved him back as well. 

 

Aboard the _Alderaan_ , Ceeli Montesi sat in Mon Mothma’s command ship office. She chose the chair with its back to the star-view screen. She hadn’t turned it on; there was no need to look at endless spaces to be distracted from worrying, _if only_. Ceeli surveyed the list of messages on her com-monitor, wishing she’d see one from Endor. She knew it was better that Mothma was off the ship for a while, but the woman was never out of her thoughts. Hadn’t been for longer than the lives of so many now gone - which wasn’t a productive thought. 

Michael Grandia’s symbol came up, and she acknowledged. “What do you have?” she asked of his holo, her attention still on her messages.

“We’ve found escape pods from the _Crystaline_ but most of them are warped. No survivors,” Grandia reported crisply. She liked that in the colonel: he knew when to stick to the task at hand, even when his news made a person want to throw things. Unlike some people whose messages she immediately cut into her assistant’s drop-site. No survivors there, either. “We had to leave the area because of debris.” Grandia paused, and then added, “One other problem. I’ve word that the _Armada_ is in the area.”

Crix Madine’s name reverberated unsaid in the look that Ceeli shot Grandia. Of particular interest to the Alliance, the notorious Imperial ship had been the focus of the General’s intense interest. Ceeli didn’t know why Madine had so disliked its captain, Anton Christof, but he’d kept track of its every movement. “This area? What area?” she insisted. “Out where the _Crystaline_ is?”

“Endor.” 

Ceeli sat up straight, staring at the man, waiting.

Grandia could be frustrating when he decided to take time to think about what to say. He did that, Ceeli knew, whether his news was good or bad, leaving him even more difficult to read. 

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “As soon as I heard, I consulted Ackbar and there’re extra ships including the _Naboo_ , heading for the planet. General Calrissian has just arrived back here – “

“Didn’t the Baron just come from Endor?”  
He backed away from her sharp tone. “Yes, and saw nothing but is willing to go back.” He was intent on being friendly, on speaking to her worries. 

_I really shouldn’t let him do that._

“I’ve sent two additional ships,” Grandia continued, adding gently, “There’s no danger to the Senator, Mistress Montesi.”

 _Mothma._ Ceeli sat back in the chair. Her job was to sieve the noise and demands and interests in or of the woman who had become far more than just her own mistress. Sometimes, she could only barely keep up with her charge; sometimes, she had nothing but faith in the woman to keep her going. Ceeli checked the messages posted to the com. Her quick scan was discouraging. “Michael, there are things here that she needs to deal with,” she said frankly, determined to stay on point. “The politicians are starting to rebel against the military governors -- ”

“Ackbar says,” he was taking care with his words now, “that we should give up on the _Crystaline_.” He held up a hand. “Don’t glare at me. I agree with you. We go on until we have some proof.”

“Mon Mothma will handle Ackbar,” Ceeli told him, scowling when she saw that Grandia caught her own wicked anticipation of that particular encounter. She rested her elbow on the chair arm, her chin against her fist. She had stayed with Mon Mothma all these years because – against all odds and common sense – the woman’s hunches played out true. Affirming her old choice with a nod, Ceeli looked back at Grandia, so full of concern and determination, so comfortably reliable. “Right now…” she began.

“… what she’s dealing with on Endor is more important,” he finished for them both.

 

Captain Rickard Broghan of the _Paoli_ had always enjoyed his Imperial command. The ship was small but had 15 TIE fighters on board and cannons, and he'd once taken Moff Jerjerrod on a trip, and the Moff had complimented him on the smoothness of the flight. For the older officer, it was the height of his career and whenever he thought of his imminent retirement, he remembered proudly that once his tiny ship had been a command vessel for an Imperial Moff.

Right now, he’d be happy to be already retired and very far away. He knew he had a time bomb in his cargo bay; he wished he’d followed his first instincts and put Crix Madine in the med center, under sedation or in a coma, and out of reach of his fellow Rebels.

But if he had, he knew that the ex-Imperial would have been at the mercy of any of Brogham’s troops or pilots, and that was even worse than having him alive, if in pain, among the motley group of prisoners. He didn’t want Madine to end up dead at the hand of one of his old comrades – not when there was an Imperial decree to bring him to the Emperor, alive. 

Ehiliam came in, his uniform immaculate, his rank plaque highly polished. Brogham noted the hour – it was time for the lieutenant’s shift. The _Paoli_ ’s command had two slightly-curved dropped curved bays: six command techs sat low, their attention on their screens while the officers’ chairs sat above them facing out the forward shields. Unlike most of the Imperial ships though, the bays were only half-dropped so the techs could also see the front windows. Brogham preferred this arrangement because he felt that the ship should be more than just a place to train young officers and TIE pilots, more like a family. He’d never told anyone that – he didn’t want to be laughed at – or worse. His other lieutenant was far happier flying TIEs and Brogham knew he was shaping up well. 

Ehiliam was a trial though. Brogham would be happy when the young man moved up in Imperial ranks. He didn’t have the experience yet to hide his ambitions but he had the arrogance of his uniform. The lieutenant had practically glowed with excitement when he’d come to tell Brogham that they’d captured the notorious Madine. 

Two days later, and Ehiliam still looked smug. Brogham wished the bad news he was getting piecemeal from the coms could put a dent in it. 

One of the comm techs turned in the lower bay, his hand to his ear. “Sir?”

“Yes,” both Brogham and Ehiliam said simultaneously. The younger man looked embarrassed and stepped back. Brogham understood. It was Eliliam’s shift. 

“There’s a message sir. Aimed at us.”

“Yes? Put it up,” Eliliam ordered. 

“THIS IS GENERAL VESPER,” the broadcast started. “IMPERIAL SPECIAL FORCES, TASK FORCE KARMET. ARE YOU THERE?”

“Vesper!” Ehiliam said his voice rising in excitement. “I’ve heard about him. He’s quite a man.”

Brogham had heard about Vesper as well, and only good. The officer had helped break the pirate fleets years before. He was brilliant. And he could be the way that Brogham could get rid of his hot potato. “Open a link,” he told the tech who obeyed. “This is the _Paoli_ , General. How may we assist?”

A stuttering holo arose, forming a dark-skinned officer dressed in a uniform as crisp as Eliliam’s. “WE NEED TO CONSULT WITH THE MILITARY GOVERNOR, BUT OUR LONG-RANGE COMMUNICATIONS AREN’T WORKING. ARE THEY WORKING ON THE _PAOLI_?”

“Yes, sir, though we’ll have to move out of the debris field to get a clear broadcast,” Brogham replied. “Shall we pick you up?”

Vesper nodded. “I’VE GOT YOUR COORDINATES AND WILL HEAD FOR YOU. VESPER —“

“Sir?” Brogham broke in.

“YES?”

“I have a prisoner that I’d like to get some clarification on,” Brogham said. “When you call the military governor, can you please ask them what we should do with Major Madine who is – “

“MADINE?” Vesper’s face showed shock. “CRIX MADINE?”

“The traitor,” Ehiliam said in a slightly snide tone. “He says he’s a general now.”

“YOU HAVE HIM A PRISONER?” Vesper asked, and then continued in a hard flat tone, “I WANT TO SEE HIM.”

“Yes, sir,” Brogham said sensing he’d unleased something he didn’t understand. “He’s in the cargo bay with the others.”

“OTHERS?” Vesper was incredulous. “YOU PUT HIM IN WITH OTHERS?”

“We’re a small ship, sir,” Brogham replied defensively. “We’ve picked up both rebels and our TIE pilots and we – I – don’t have room to separate them out. The rebels that is. They are all in one cargo bay.”

“Besides if necessary,” Ehiliam added proudly, waving his hand casually over a console, “we can expel them into space if they make trouble.”

“’EXPEL?’” Vesper looked from one to the other, struggled for a second, then took a deep breath. “DON’T DO IT UNTIL I GET THERE. WAIT FOR ME. THAT’S AN ORDER!”

“Yes, sir. _Paoli_ out,” Brogham replied gratefully, and shot a reproof at Ehiliam after the link had broken. “We don’t murder prisoners, Lieutenant!”

“Of course not, sir,” Ehiliam said unruffled. 

Brogham turned to face the lieutenant full on. “And if it happens, then I leave it to you to explain personally to the Emperor that it was necessary to execute Major Madine when the standing orders are to bring him in alive,” he said, squashing any fantasies that might tempt a man. “Call me when you see the general’s ship. Your shift, Lieutenant.”

Brogham thought it was time for Ehiliam to move on. Maybe to a Star Destroyer. He didn’t belong on the _Paoli_.

Leia Organa finished putting a cushion on a chair and stared around the room. The official gathering hall for the village elders, now turned over to the Alliance, was small, like the private gallery back on Alderaan where her father had often held meetings about the Rebellion: a dais for the guest of honor, side platforms for other VIPs, a center area of painted flooring where a person could present, and an odd sort of small benches, single chairs, and lots of pillows and cushions. Different, but with the same purpose of getting people to talk about what needed to be said or planned.

_What does she want?_

“Leia?” Han poked his head through the painted and beaded leather ribbons that marked the formal entry to the room. “There you are!” The Corellian stepped into the room, unconsciously bowing his head to get through the low doorway, pushing aside the leather strapping and, panting slightly after four levels of stairs up to this room overlooking the village greeting ground. “Hey, why’d you leave me to –“

"You know, I've known her for so long," Leia murmured. "And she still intimidates me."

"Who? Oh, yeah, her.” Han sounded surprised. “Why?” 

She shot him a slightly twisted smile, and picked up a zig-zag striped cushion that looked satisfyingly, amusingly, strange when she twisted it in her hands. "I really don't know exactly. I grew up with her basically coming and going on Alderaan. I remember the first time Father asked me to sit in on one of their discussions about the rebellion. Mon Mothma looked disturbed and I knew she wasn't being forthcoming, and I resented that. Now, I understand better -- I was very young. They were talking treason; lives depended on my self-control."

"Why'd your father ask?"

Leia shrugged. She re-plumped the pillow until it looked reasonably as it had before being strangled and tossed it on the dais bench where its twin already lay beside a sturdier sitting cushion. "I had to know what was going on, some of it. Either that or believe the gossip that they were having an affair, and I knew that wasn't true.” 

She saw Solo‘s skeptical look, and glared at him. “Han, she had a lover somewhere. I remember him from one of her earlier visits – she brought him. So, she and my father – no, here, help me move this bench.” He complied and they put it nearer to the center of the room. 

“Then, suddenly, Alderaan was gone. Then we had that debacle on Hoth. She arrived, having just escaped the Emperor, and she was Supreme Commander. I was still Bail Organa’s daughter, but now she was my father, sitting in his office on the command ship, making the decisions he would have. The Senate was gone. Alderaan – was gone. And when I wasn’t the official poster child for Keeping The Memory Of Alderaan Alive, I was suddenly just another commander, helping the generals direct and encourage the troops.”

Leia paused. She realized that she was just standing there, staring through the pale stripped bark screens that covered the room’s windows, making the outside forest just an indiscriminate blur of green. Han watched her, warily careful, she supposed, but she had something cornered by her memories. She couldn’t name what she had found, not yet, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that that something needed to be called out, to be named.

“When I wanted to go after you on Tatooine,” she continued, “she was against it at first - Ackbar, too. I told her..." Leia hesitated, "…that she should understand how I felt about you. I think I shocked her. I told her I was just like her with my Corellian lover. Madine, you know.” 

“You -- you asked her about General Madine –“ At Han’s hesitation, she turned away from the window to see his eyes widening. “Naw, you didn’t.“

Leia laughed. “I did. Look, there’s the sun again. I wasn’t thinking clearly, Han – you were in carbonite, remember? -- and I walked out on her before she said anything. A day later, she supported my plan -- and cut me of the battle planning and strategy from then on." Leia turned to Han, "After I thought about it for a while, I understood. If I'd been caught -- "

"As you were," Han interrupted.

"--She didn't want me to tell them anything. I guess we were all lucky that Jabba decided to keep me as a slave, and not hand me over to the Empire." Leia tried to smile, but shivered instead. 

Han saw and pulled her away from the door, away into his arms. “In that outfit?” he teased with his hug. “You’d’ve even impressed the Emperor!” 

She pulled away far enough to jab at his ribs, then sagged against his chest, reclaiming the comfort she found in his solid warmth. "I wasn't really welcomed back into the planning councils when we got back from Tatooine, Han. They felt I wasn’t loyal enough."

"I didn’t hear a thing about it on the med ship," Han said thoughtfully "I guessed it was worked out with you and Ackbar."

"No,” Leia said, coming back to the initial problem. “And that’s all over now. So, why should she come all this way to you and me?"

"I can tell you that –“ his wrist com went off and he snapped at it. “What?" 

"Commander Skywalker has returned," Dubow's calm voice announced. "He's on his way up."

"Luke!" Leia pulled herself free. Han was saying something, but she hurried out onto the balcony where she could see the stairs. 

Three flights down, in the last rays of the afternoon sun, Luke's hair gleamed with dark gold highlights as he climbed towards the second level. Further down, she watched C-3PO, Chirpa, and Mon Mothma come into view at the bottom landing.

Dubow appeared next. "Commander!" he called up from below and Luke turned, looking down. 

_I've seen this before!_ Leia pulled back from the railing, from a blinding sense of deja vu. _A lighter-haired man, Mon Mothma looking up with a welcoming smile, soft light all around._ The feeling was gone with her next breath, with the sight of Mon Mothma’s first step up the climb, with Luke waiting for her to join him before starting up again.

"Well,” Han whispered in Leia's ear, “here we go."

Through the leather-dressed entry, Leia could see Luke step back to let Mon Mothma come into the meeting room first. Chief Chirpa and C-3PO followed, then Dubrow. Backlit by the sun, the faces were difficult to see clearly, but Leia felt tension flow into the room with the newcomers, undefined but as real as at any negotiations she had held in small rooms under the vast Senate arena. Captain Klimet was last through the streamers; he remained by the entry, looking about himself until he found and pulled a long sheet of leather down and across the opening. He hung a small device from the rod, securing their privacy.

“Looks like her tour of the local attractions did her good,” Ham murmured. “Just being away from the _Alderaan_ probably does her a world of –“ 

Leia nudged him in the ribs with an elbow. But Han was right. Mon Mothma looked refreshed. Her cap was off and her hair was pleasantly wind-blown. A leaf dangled from the hem of her poncho. 

Mon Mothma waited for the Ewok chieftain to offer her the place of honor on the dais, then settle himself on the cushioned bench to her right. She glanced back at Klimet, who nodded, then began her opening remarks to the Ewok. “Endor is beautiful. It reminds me of the mountains on Chandrila. I haven’t smelled such fresh air for years. C3PO, please assure Chief Chirpa that I enjoyed our walk and thank him for his hospitality in offering us this place to meet.” She waited on the translation, then bowed slightly as the Ewok chief rapped his staff twice on the flooring, his fur so proudly puffed that from barely ten feet away, Leia could scarcely see the beads that dangled from his chest placket. 

Mon Mothma then addressed the ranking officer. “As I said, I’ve read the report you filed, General Solo. It has some gaps that need filling.”

Luke over-spoke Han’s hesitation. “You’ve come all the way here to get a report, Senator?” He may have interrupted, but his voice was calm, if firm. He had sounded like that since the escape on Tatooine, Leia had noticed; and wondered at. “I think there’s more than that to this visit.”

Mon Mothma’s smile did not reach her eyes. She sat straighter on her cushion and lay her palms on the zig-zagged cushions to her right and left. Sitting like she was a judge, Leia thought, unnerved. Leia sat herself on a bench at the lower left curve of the painted presentation area, leaving room for Han. The man chose to step up and stand behind her, which she didn’t appreciate. She wanted his warmth beside her. 

Luke looked around, held his hand out and a stool floated over. He sat down to the right of the inner circle.

Chirpa and C3PO gaped. Dubow and Klimet exchanged nervous glances. Mon Mothma only nodded as if something had been clarified, and said, “Let me tell you briefly what has been happening while you were here.” 

Her briefing was precise if quick. For the while, Leia forgot her misgivings and lost herself in the galactic events and politics the Commander described. Finally, Mon Mothma lifted and spread her hands. “So, you understand why we need a complete record on how the second Death Star was destroyed.”

“Lando flew the ship into the Star and blew it up,” Han said immediately, his tone flat. Dangerous, Leia knew. “We took down the protective shield, and the others did their job.” 

Mon Mothma’s gaze was cool, her inflection accusatory. “Then please explain to me why we have several reports of Darth Vader having been taken off the Death Star by a young man dressed in black.” Her attention turned to Luke and his dark clothing. “And why there is an Imperial shuttle in the woods that’s been hidden from our forces?”

The room went silent. Finally, Luke asked, “Where did you hear this?”

“There were survivors from the Death Star. They describe chaos, everyone running for escape pods. Several were retrieved. Grandia has shown them your holo and they identified you. You were _seen,_ Commander Skywalker!”

“Dubow reported the shuttle,” Klimet said unexpectedly, making Leia jump. She’d forgotten he was there. “Several of the Imperial troopers tried to escape in it, but our people brought them down. Ship’s records indicate time of departure from the Death Star as immediately pre-destruction.”

“So, where is Darth Vader, Commander Skywalker?” Mon Mothma demanded. “Is he dead or alive?”

Luke was silent again for several seconds, then replied, “Dead. He is dead.”

“So you acknowledge being on the Death Star?” she persisted. “Why?”

“I went there to confront the Emperor. He and Vader tried to convince me to join the Empire.”

“And?” Leia could see strain in Mon Mothma’s face; her voice was harsh. 

“Darth Vader threw the Emperor down an energy shaft. He killed him.”

The room suddenly constricted, as if everyone had taken a sharp, deep breath and could not exhale. Leia glanced at Klimet whose expressionless face belied the bright sharp look in his eyes. The man was absorbing everything, and she knew he would not forget. 

“Palpatine…down a shaft.” Mon Mothma raised her hands to her face, burying her reaction, an unexpected gesture that startled everyone in the room. When she looked up, composed, her hands folding into one another as they dropped calmly into her lap. “So we have no real proof.”

“Proof… ” Leia echoed. “Proof to show the galaxy he’s gone?”

“Proof of death. We need something to absolutely show everyone that he and Vader are gone,” Mothma could not sound more emphatic. “You say that you took Darth Vader off that ship, Commander Skywalker, and brought him here and that he’s now dead. I repeat: Where is Darth Vader? Where is the body?”

Luke sat up straight, his satisfaction obvious. At least to Leia. Probably to Mon Mothma as well. “I burned it.”

His Commander stared at him in startled disbelief. “Burned it? He was only half a man! There had to be remains.” Mon Mothma was furious and, for a moment, it showed. “We need them!”

Leia’s lips parted, but she was cut off by Luke’s angry “No!”

She rose quickly. In the small room, only a step put her next to Luke with her hand on his shoulder. “That should be unnecessary considering your other evidence, Mon Mothma,” 

“Surely you’re joking, Leia,” Mon Mothma said. “You’ve served in the Senate. You know the standard of proof that is demanded in those courts. In this case – “

“I am not taking you to him,” Luke insisted. “You have the shuttle, the other proof – “

“That one of our officers saved Darth Vader from certain death and has hidden him, saying he’s dead, but offering no proof.” Mothma’s acid description was apt—Leia could hear the respected Senator from – oh, just about anywhere -- saying the same. “That will certainly satisfy them!”

“I’m a Jedi,” Luke replied proudly. “We do what’s right.”

Mon Mothma stared at him with the coldest expression that Leia had ever seen on the woman’s face. “I knew the Jedi. And right now, Luke Skywalker, you remind me very much of your father.”

Leia felt Luke’s appalled reaction fire her own fears. “What do you know about that?” She shot back before she could catch herself. 

_Damn!_

The silence went on for almost a minute. Mon Mothma sat ever so slightly back, her attention on Luke, then Leia, then Han. Her eyes were still fierce, but behind them, Leia could see a politician fascinated by the possibilities presented by the three people she watched so closely, possibilities that had kept Leia awake, worrying, more than one night since Luke had shared the awful news of his – their – parentage. When the woman’s study was finished, she called Klimet,“I want everyone cleared out of earshot, please, Captain,” she ordered. “This is private.”

“The Ewok, ma’am?” 

Seeing Klimet’s wave, Chirpa glanced at the door as well. C-3PO had given up translating for the chieftain, however Leia suspected that the chieftain had a shrewd idea of what was going on despite the language problem. Now Chirpa saved the Commander from replying by getting up and saying, through C-3PO, that this was none of his business, so he was going to attend to the preparations for that the evening’s feast and looked forward to seeing everyone at the celebrations. 

That, too, was an order.

Han turned to watch the Ewok leave – or to exchange glances with Klimet. Leia couldn’t judge because her heart stopped when she thought he was going to leave as well. Had he reconsidered what she told him, deep in the night after the celebrations ended? Did this, Mon Mothma’s appearance, the return of politics, and judges, and consequences, make his realize how impossible, how dangerous how dangerous was the secret she had told him about her and Luke’s parentage?

Then Han stepped away from the bench and stood behind both her and Luke. 

When even Dubow and Klimet had left, Luke said carefully, “My father was a Jedi who fought Separatists in the Clone Wars with Obi-wan Kenobi. What else do you know about my father, Senator?”

Mon Mothma watched him closely as she explained, “Anakin Skywalker was a Jedi and a famous war hero; our older pilots still talk about him. And he was the Jedi's representative to the Senate President, Palpatine of Naboo. I knew Anakin when he stood guard at Palpatine's left hand. I knew him as a friend of Padme Amidala. Later," she took a breath, "I discovered what happened to her – and him.”

“Padme Amidala? She was my mother?” Suddenly Luke’s voice wasn’t that of a Jedi, just a man hungry for his history. “You knew my mother?”

Leia stiffened at the term ‘mother’ and asked, as if just curious, “Padme Amidala? The Senator?” 

Luke was jumping to conclusions; Mothma was playing him.

But Mon Mothma nodded. “Wasn’t she part of your education on Alderaan, Leia? I remember telling you about her when you were very young. And I know Bail specifically sent you to Naboo for Freedom Day ceremonies. You laid Alderaan’s wreath at her tomb.”

“Yes, I did.” Turning to her, Luke glowed with hope. “No. I didn’t know this though. She… and a Jedi – “ 

“A scandal, yes. And dangerous information. Bail could barely bring himself to tell me the sad story." For a moment Mon Mothma’s voice softened. "They were young and in love, and very careful. Then the Jedi were butchered,” her tone turned brutal, her gaze hard on the trio – and on somewhere long ago. “Anakin vanished and Padme died. Her child was taken away and hidden from the Emperor. Padme’s chief bodyguard, Typho, worked for decades uncovering the truth. When he did, it came to me. Anakin Skywalker had become Darth Vader.”

Luke sighed; his shoulders dropped. He no longer looked like the super confident young man who had defied his Supreme Commander. Leia remembered how he had slumped over the game board on the Falcon after leaving General Kenobi behind, dead, on the Death Star: stunned, lost, and tired beyond physical exhaustion. “I didn’t know anyone knew about Anakin Skywalker,” he said quietly.

“No one lives in a vacuum, Luke,” Mon Mothma said. “He and Padme were discreet – so very discreet – but some of us figured it out. Just as a few of us know the complete truth.”

Luke nodded and met her gaze. “I still won’t give you the remains, Senator.”

The fierce look returned to Mon Mothma's eyes. “Give us something to prove to the Galaxy that he’s dead, Commander. Otherwise, I can promise you that I will let the Senate question you, at length, as to why you took him off the Death Star and why you won’t provide us with the proof of his death!”

Luke's fair skin flushed and the muscles along his jaw tightened. Han shifted his weight. Leia could just see his fingers restless where his holster would be, no matter that the threat was from an ally, She, too, felt tired beyond words. Looking at Mon Mothma, Leia knew she’d do it. The Senator from Chandrila had faced greater evils than might be birthed in this room and had survived them all. 

Luke stood. He looked at the Commander but Leia doubted that he saw her. Then he turned and left. The sound of his boots on the staircase, fading away, was his only comment. 

“That’s not the way to get what you want,” Leia said, coming to her feet.

Mothma stared up at her. “It’s what the Galaxy needs, Princess Leia. You know this. Have you forgotten all that your father taught you?”

“He taught me to put the galaxy above my private life,” Leia snapped. “Isn’t that what you’ve always done?” 

Mon Mothma went white. 

What had she said that made her do that? Leia didn’t care. Defiantly, she continued, “I’m not going to do that. I'm not going to be _very discreet.”_ She put her arm around Han’s waist, pulling him closer despite his resistance. “Han and I are getting married – and before anyone can tell us not to.”

 _And that includes you,_ she knew Mon Mothma and Han both understood.

“Admiral Ackbar will be happy to preside,” was Mon Mothma’s tart response. “What do you have planned for your future? Smuggling?”

Han winced. Leia’s temper flared. She didn’t mind being Mon Mothma’s target, but she wasn’t going let the older woman aim at Han. 

“I haven’t made up my mind,” Leia continued, her sight narrowed and her jaw tense. “But I’m not letting love escape me for years like you have with Madine.

“Leia, no!” Han hissed.

Mon Mothma flinched. She turned her head away and stared long, beyond the leather-draped window. She looked vulnerable, older. 

Unsure, still angry, not trusting Mothma but startled by Han’s panic, Leia protested, “General Madine – “

“His ship was destroyed during the battle for the second Death Star,” Mon Mothma said tonelessly. 

Leia’s fight vanished. 

“I -- I didn’t know,” she said, glanced up at Han for help but she had seen that kind of impatient grimace before and although he’d stand by her, she really didn’t want to hear what he was thinking. “I’m sorry, M’Mothma – “ She sounded like a child; she felt like a child, clumsy and obdurate. She turned her face away, feeling angry and appalled. She would never have brought up Madine if she had known, or if the story she had heard today hadn’t rattled her fears. Leia closed her eyes for a moment, hunting calm.

“I know he’s alive,” Mon Mothma said. Leia knew she was looking at them again and heard no rancor in her voice, just – understanding. “He promised to come back.” 

Leia couldn’t meet her eyes. She had felt the same way about Han, but had had the confidence of knowing that her lover was alive, if imprisoned in carbonite. If Madine’s ship was lost, the man was dead. Four days in an escape pod was four days too long, no matter what the specs said.

Han had told her that. Carbonite was safer, really, and wasn’t she glad she had found him on firm ground and not had to go looking out among the debris of battle? His sally didn’t amuse her then; it didn’t help now, either.

The door flew open, the leather sheet surrendering to an onslaught of Ewoks, a parade of celebrants bearing platters of food and led by Chirpa and Kneesaa. Leia had never been so glad to hear the battering of drums, and the shrill chatter of children. Captain Dubow slid in as well, waving Han over. With a squeeze to her arm and the briefest of warning gestures at his lips, he slipped away. The soldiers would have a word in private. 

Manic cheerfulness filled the room and broke the tension. With both hands, Kneesha tugged Mon Mothma to her feet and the room was rearranged. Benches became tables and more pillows appeared from somewhere, falling under more fur throws, and with Leia and Mon Mothma separated by Chirpa and C-3PO, everyone settled down. What had been said, and what remained yet to say, was put aside for another day’s examination. 

The ubiquitous stormtrooper helmet drums appeared and the Ewoks rolled about in joy to see the Supreme Commander’s jaw drop in appreciation of their prowess at war. Leia appealed to the local gods for some small redemption and did not disabuse their hosts of this misunderstanding.


	3. A few answers

Shura was half-asleep, her hand cradling Madine’s. The man was warm and she was cold. She had been so ever since leaving home lest she be picked up and deported to a camp; the man’s warmth made her feel at ease for a while. 

On the other side of the General, Nethercutt was also sleeping, his body slumped against the hull. The boy’s lanky legs were stretched out and she’d had to remove his foot from lying on the general’s. Neither had noticed.

She could feel the gaping hole in her mind with Mazzan gone; the comfortable feeling of being together through their telepathic bond. They were the only two of their kind on the _Crystaline_ and knew it was foolish to interweave their thoughts in such circumstances, but it had happened. 

Then, as Mazzan had foreseen, he died in battle, and she was alone again. 

Shura cuddled closer, and Madine’s hand tightened. _Who is this woman you dream of?_ Shura asked, not expecting an answer. The man sighed. She could catch no image for he had no skills at all unlike some of his kind. Her empathy could feel the immense need in him to touch the woman with hope. Nothing more coursed through his spirit in this moment of deadly danger; no hope for redemption or even longer life, just the assurance that someone who fulfilled his reason to be would know he thought of her. Shura couldn’t do that; she couldn’t send a clear message to a stranger, but what she could do was lie close to him, and transmit as hard as she could some of feeling of his personality, of his essence and of his intense desire for the unknown woman to know he was alive. 

That much she could do.

 

Luke Skywalker sat in pilot seat of the _Millennium Falcon_ cockpit. He stared at the dark banks of controls until the dials doubled in his sight, and still that meeting could not be rearranged in any way other than a disaster. 

Mon Mothma’s threat was real. He had felt, could still feel, the strength of her conviction coming through the Force. The Rebellion needed to know his father was dead. 

_You need to give them the mask and helmet_ , a voice admonished. The ghost of Obi-Wan Kenobi appeared next to him, leaning on Chewbacca’s co-pilot chair. 

“That would be grave robbing,” Luke protested. 

_It’s not as if he’s there, Luke_ , Obi-wan reproved, straightening up. _It’s a shell on that bier, not even a body._

Luke looked around expecting -- hoping -- to see his father appear at Navigation, but the heart of the _Falcon’_ s controls was empty of anyone but him and Obi-Wan. He could just imagine what Han would think of giving Kenobi any control at all of his freighter. 

_Anakin had the same opinion of my skills at the helm. I always did make base, though._

Luke granted the old man a small laugh. But he wasn’t deterred. “What does Anakin have to say about this?”

Obi-wan smiled. _Ask him._

His eyes shut, Luke let his thoughts fall away into the Force, opening himself to what might be and not chasing what it was he thought he wanted. It wasn’t easy, letting his worries, his longings, dissolve, not today, but he knew he could do it and that the Force would wait until he did. Eventually, he was with Obi-wan within the Force and in the Falcon, still seeing Obi-wan’s glowing spirit. But the young Anakin Skywalker he remembered from day Darth Vader died did not appear in either reality. 

“He’s not there.” Luke opened his eyes and spun Han’s chair round to face the glassine viewport that was full of green, lots of green.

 _He’s not in that clearing either,_ Obi-wan said quietly. _Anakin is a Jedi and has joined the Force the same as Yoda has and I soon will. Give the galaxy what it needs, Luke. Proof of his death._

“I…” Still rebellious, Luke protested that this was the wrong thing to do. He wasn’t the sort of man to abandon -- his traditions on Tatooine weren’t to –

 _ButI never buried Uncle Owen or Aunt Beru,_ he thought suddenly. _So many dead._

“Will there be enough to satisfy Mon Mothma?”

No answer. He looked back behind the co-pilot chair, then turned and looked at navigation. Obi-wan was gone. 

He felt better, he admitted it. His spirit lighter, Luke closed down the Falcon and ran for his speeder bike. The rain had become a steady, hard downpour, blurring his vision, but he kicked into HIGH for the ride back to the village and drove unerringly towards his goal. 

Halfway home, his wrist com flashed and he pulled over into the shadow of a monstrous tree. The bike rumbled in WAIT; he flicked his line in open. “Skywalker.”

“ _Amber_ , sir.”

Luke’s head went up sharply and he looked around. “Where?”

“Village.”

Luke gunned the bike. Dubow had sounded easy -- _amber_ meant the need for immediate consultation with Dubow NOW – but the man was not excitable under most circumstances. With the head of the Alliance on the planet, _amber_ was not good. 

The captain was waiting at the ground level com control established to support Mon Mothma’s stay in the village. Han was already there. 

“Where’s Leia?”

“With Mon Mothma and Chirpa, celebrating. Yeah, I’d glad I’m not there, too. I’ll fill her in later,” Han said. “Tell him, Dubow.”

“We’ve had a warning that the _Armada_ is in the area, sir,” Luke drew a breath sharply. “We’ve sent out extra scouts, but the debris is making it difficult to track everything.”

“I keep telling him a Star Destroyer is too big to be lost in a debris field,” Han drawled. 

“Agreed,” Dubow replied, unruffled. “And until we have further knowledge, I’ve asked for extra protection from the fleet. Klimet has increased the guard on the Senator until we get help.”

Luke nodded. Now that his mind was clear, he could admit the danger that Mon Mothma was running, especially if the _Armada_ was around. At the least, she couldn’t leave until that ship was gone.

“I’m going back to the fight – ah, dinner,” Han said. “No way they’re finished eating yet. Luke,” he fixed Skywalker with a curious eye, “do you want to speak with the Boss again tonight?”

Luke returned the leery eye. “No, no, I’ll do that in the morning. Captain Dubow can keep us updated.”

“Klimet, sir,” Dubow corrected. ”We’re splitting duties, sir,” 

Luke had forgotten that Dubow was already working double shifts. And Klimet had been on duty the trip out as well as on-planet. “I’ll take the next few hours,” Luke offered. “Tell the Captain to get some rest, too. Come down in five hours.”

Dubow’s smile was startling. He was so quiet a man in word and gesture. “He’ll appreciate that, sir. Keeping up with the Senator is quite difficult.”

“No surprise there,” Han snorted. “Tell me you want company, Luke. I don’t really want to go back upstairs.” Luke declined Han’s invitation, saw him and Dubow off to their respective huts to politick or to sleep, then settled in a seat and began to read what the _Alderaan_ had to say.

 

After five hours scanning reports, Luke felt he had a good understanding of the gravity of the galactic situation and some sympathy for Mon Mothma’s point of view. A few systems were still celebrating, more were dealing with revenge attacks on the Empire’s local authorities, and there was disorder among the Imperial Forces. Clues about the _Armada_ made it clear that the feared battlewagon was among those punishing defectors, but its current position remained unknown. 

A disturbing number of messages were signed and noted by Colonel Michael Grandia, Crix Madine’s second-in-command. Where was the general? Luke hadn’t interacted much with Madine, but knew the high command respected and trusted the former Imperial officer. To have him missing was unnerving. 

_I’ll ask Mon Mothma,_ he concluded. When 5 hours had passed, he saluted a refreshed and smiling Klimet and left the Captain in command. 

Climbing to the rooms that had been given to the humans, Luke was suddenly aware that on the platform above him, a woman was staring into the black night’s rain. With a poncho wrapped tightly around her, she stood, leaning against a wood corner upright and her stance was so stark and unmoving that were it not for her vibrancy within the Force, Luke might have thought her a statue.. He could tell from the height that it wasn’t Leia, so it had to be Mon Mothma. What was she looking for in a downpour had become a sheet of rain? 

“Senator…Commander?” Before he decided to call again, she looked down. Luke saw stark loss in her eyes. Were those tears or raindrops on her cheeks? He didn’t want to know. Then she blinked, and the loss was gone as she focused on him. 

“I’ll give you the proof of death you need tomorrow, Commander,” he said before she might feel compelled to speak. “I’ll take you to where I burned him.”

It took a few seconds for her thoughts to come back from a thousand parsecs away and to take in his words. Flickering light from guidance torches revealed a small smile. “Thank you, Commander.” She turned and ducked into a hut that the Ewoks had festooned with flowery garlands. 

He started to climb again, and when he came to her level, could hear soft weeping. Luke moved up as quickly as he could, thinking that tomorrow was early enough to trouble her with questions. It was a long ride out to the pyre. 

He hoped it would stop raining. 

 

“Mistress Montesi? Ceeli?” Grandia’s voice came out of the com on Mothma’s desk and Ceeli pressed the button to let him in even as he was adding, “May I see you?” 

The small office always seemed to shrink when Grandia came in. “Is there any news?” Ceeli said sharply as the man took his good time to wedge his stocky, broad-shouldered frame comfortably into a woven steel chair opposite her. “It’s late, Michael.”

He took her curtness in stride. “Yes, but you won’t like it,” he warned. “Those two ships we reassigned to search for the _Armada_ ? Before they were pulled off the _Crystaline_ retrieval, they found the control room and brought it aboard the _Avatar._ ” He sobered abruptly, as if just remembering something he had put aside. 

Bad news. Ceeli took care with her tone when she asked, “Do the command vids tell us anything worthwhile?” 

“Madine escaped.”

Ceeli sat straight up. “He’s alive?” _Damn, but she was going to kill this man some day._

Grandia gestured slightly. “Stalinz apparently got him to a pod and it was ejected,” he continued. “I’ve had the control vid piped up here. It’s -- not pleasant.”

Of course it wasn’t. Ceeli dismissed the caution with a shrug. Years in the diplomatic service, her time with the Alliance, her sorrows at and in Imperial hands had inured her to surprise at sentient cruelty and the indifference of Fate. She was Alderaani and a survivor. “Show me.”

The video ran flat-pictured on the desk top so they could see it all. The ship’s controls were flashing red, the blast shields mostly shut, but what was open was full of blinding light. The front shields of the _Crystaline_ had taken a beating. 

Madine and Stalinzwere the only crew. The general was finishing something on the counsel, Stalinz talking to him, then the ship was hit hard. Thrown across the deck, Stalinz crashing into Madine, who crumpled against the railing, screaming.

A moment, then the captain helped the general to stand, Madine obviously needing aid, and together they staggered to the door that opened. Behind them the consoles were going out according to the command code that would run and destroy the _Crystaline_. 

“Then he did explode it,” Ceeli said thoughtfully. “Admiral Ackbar is right.”

“It’s not over,” warned Grandia. He sped up the video. “This part is from the escape pod holos,” 

Stalinz was carrying the wounded officer. He pushed him into a pod, then the ship rocked back, sending Stalinz staggering against the opposite wall. The escape pod door slid shut before Stalinz could get back and the door lights changed to expel. He headed for the next crib but a huge force-five explosion tore through the initial empty pod niche, opening the hall into vacuum. 

Grandia hit the stop before they might watch Stalinz explode. “I don’t want to see that again,” he said, his face calm but his voice rumbling deeper than Ceeli remembered hearing it. He sat still, staring at the empty dark desk surface. 

“He was a good man,” Ceeli agreed, softly saying the silent prayer for the dead; there was comfort in keeping the old Alderaani custom, no matter the number of times it was needed, no matter that her world was no more. Michael knew what she was doing and waited. “So,” she continued after a moment, “did the ships find the escape pod?”

“We had to recall them,” Grandia reminded her quietly. 

“Men can live in pods for several weeks,” she countered.

“And it’s unpleasant at the best, deadly the rest of the time.” He pulled himself more surely into the here and now; his voice sounded strong again. “We’ll go back , Ceeli, after we find where the _Armada_ has gone. Or, when Calrissian comes back, he can go hunting for pods.”

 _That’s not what –_ “Did Ackbar order this recall?” Montesi demanded.

“It was by general agreement by senior command as a precaution for her safety,” Grandia recited, then paused. With thoughtful curiosity, he added, “Will you tell the Commander on Endor?”

“Not until I have some more proof,” Ceeli told him bluntly. “Madine may have made it off the ship but if he’s alive in a pod–“ She saw her own inability to be blindly optimistic reflected in Grandia’s sympathetic eyes. 

“I want answers, Michael,” Ceeli said with an angry laugh, “before I kill her hopes.”


	4. Old friends - or enemies - meet

Captain Brogham was happy to greet General Vesper when the small SpF ship landed in the _Paoli_ bay. Ehiliam had cleared the space by soldering the empty escape pods into a hulk and expelling it. It was one less thing crowding the ship.

The lieutenant also provided Brogham with a capsule review of who Vesper was on their way down to the launch bay. Brogham was more impressed than he had been before. Vesper had been one of the principal officers in breaking the piracy rings roughly a decade ago, and his record had only improved. No wonder he had been on the Death Star. _But he survived twice. I wonder what he’s doing out here?_ Brogham straightened his tunic as the ramp came down. 

His first impression was that Vesper was all muscle. The uniform hardly seemed to contain the mass. Brogham saluted sharply. Ehiliam did the same. Glancing around the bay, the general came down and returned the respect .

“This way, General,” Brogham offered, stepping toward the door. 

“What information do you have from the military governor?” Vesper asked, his men lining up behind him, three armed uniformed, and five Stormtroopers. “I directed him to message us here.”

“Nothing, sir, yet,” Brogham hesitated. “I will show you what I do have.”

“Excellent,” Vesper said crisply. “Then I want to see Cri -- Madine. Alone. Do you have a room where I can question him?”

“Alone… uh, yes, sir. I’ll have a room cleared,” Brogham waved his hand at Elihaim who was still at attention. “See to it, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir!” 

“A private room,” Vesper added. “Apton, go with him and make sure of what we need.” 

_Need? What did Vesper have planned?_ “He is still a prisoner,” Brogham protested. He read contempt on Eliham’s expression when he continued, “He should stand trial, General.”

“We are under orders to send him to the Emperor,” Eliham explained, quite unnecessarily. “It’s a standing order.”

“The Rebels say he’s dead,” Vesper said. “The Emperor, that is.”

“I’m sure they would, sir,” Elihaim sniffed. “It’s certain to be a lie.”

Brogham cut in. “Lieutenant, go with Captain Apton now and assist him. General,” the captain barely heard Elihaim’s cadet enthusiasm --“Yes, sir!” – as he worried everything this special forces officer had to say about cleared rooms and dead Emperors. “This way to the comm center, sir.”

 

Madine's head was clearer than it had been since the _Crystaline_. He remembered the escape, his injuries, and his second-in-command throwing him into the escape pod. 

The Alloran had been in the pod and caught him, then both tumbled against the wall as the pod ejected. Madine was happy Shura was still around. The quiet tech had already exerted her authority in getting him food, drink. and even a trip to the curtained waste area. That was painful; Madine enjoyed lying down again. 

The shoulder had to be dislocated -- maybe broken as well. The ribs could be cracked, according to Smythe. The Imperials had thrown Madine into the bay and he’d landed hard on the floor. Smythe flinched, recalling the sound for his report and apologizing for being too slow to prevent it. 

Nonetheless, as he lay there, Madine began to think about the situation he faced, and that of all the other Rebels in the bay. _There's something wrong here. Smythe says it's been five standard days as far as he can tell, since I came aboard. There are rules on handling the Rebels. We should be aboard a Star Destroyer. What's going on?_

Nethercutt sank down beside him. He and Shura had taken up permanent residence on either side; something Madine thought was amusing on Nethercutt's part. The tech had been very useful back on the _Crystaline_ , especially for breaking the Emperor's slanderous holo of Madine and Mon Mothma, but he tended to avoid his commanding officer religiously.

_If he thinks I can protect him, he's in for a rude shock. I'm the eye of this storm._

Madine gingerly moved his neck, bracing for the pain he knew would come. Why couldn't one of the med teams have been dumped in here? They'd fixed his shoulder and put some bracing in for his ribs or find some way of mitigating his pain. _All the Empire will do is kill me. No,_ he corrected himself, _the Emperor wants me to die in front of him. That's what's keeping me alive. Wants Mothma as well. And she’s safely out of his reach._ His lips curved upward as he thought about her. _The Alliance will keep her safe._

 

Shura continued transmit what she perceived about the general, but her projection wasn't as powerful as when he'd been feverish and full of longing. Whoever the woman was, the officer was not sharing it as before. And then she saw him smile, and knew that once again, his thoughts were of the mystery woman.

The bay door slid open. A cluster of Stormtroopers clattered in, their white armor gleaming and guns held ready. The prisoners froze. Shura saw Smythe glance at Madine, who was watching warily. 

The general’s calm shattered within her when three uniformed officers strode in, followed by a muscular officer whose gaze went directly to their group. 

The man’s voice was unexpectedly musical. "Madine."

The general stared back. "Vesper."

Their gazes clashed, a wealth of information passing between them. Shura felt Madine’s muscles tense, then heard a sharp breath of pain as he began to struggle upright, jarring his shoulder. Shura wanted to help him; she saw that Nethercutt did, too. They knew better.

A move by Smythe broke the tension. At least two blasters stopped him from doing anything more. 

"Get up," Vesper ordered, not taking his attention off Madine. “You’re coming with me."

"You can't do that, sir." Smythe pointed out. "He can't walk."

Vesper took a moment to assess the general. "I’ll bet he can -- "

"Not without help," Madine said, bluntly. "Shoulder, ribs and no painkillers. You want me alone, Blaine, you drag me out using your own men."

The other rebels stirred at his words, many of them staring at Madine, clearly confused by the familiarity in his tone when he addressed the officer.

Vesper’s expression flickered with annoyance, as if something wasn't going as he wanted. "I don’t mind doing that, Crix.” 

A rumble from the crowd and the troopers went on alert. The officers suddenly had small weapons in their hands, blasters that looked deadlier than anything Shura had ever seen. 

"Let us help him," she declared, hardly believing she could speak. "We -- Nethercutt and I -- can get him wherever we're going.” 

Nethercutt shot her an appalled look. 

The Imperial general’s gaze became speculative as he looked at her, then back at Madine. "Well,” he said at last, his decision difficult to parse by Alloran perceptions. “We'll need witnesses. Bring them out."

Shura and Nethercutt helped Madine to his feet and they stumbled out, Vesper first, the two prisoners next, the dark troopers and the stormtroopers at the end. 

It was a long walk to a room where the ship’s lieutenant stood outside with another dark-clad officer whose curiosity Shura felt almost as if he were broadcasting. Glancing at Madine, she saw that he was concentrating only on walking and ignoring everyone around him. 

When they were inside, she saw three chairs in a semi-circle behind a table with a small brown box against one leg, and more of the low lighting that all Imperial vessels seemed to use. 

Madine seemed to know where to go. He directed the others with small pushes to the middle of the room and stopped, facing the chairs. He swayed; Shura took a firmer grip, knowing that it hurt but -- at least he was still standing. 

Behind them, troopers filed in, taking up positions against the walls, then the officers, standing where they could see Madine. The door closed. One officer, the one who, with the lieutenant, had already been at the room, looked at Vesper. Reacting to an unseen command, he put one of the chairs behind Madine. Shura and Nethercutt gratefully let the general sink down on it with a sigh of relief. Two of the troopers stepped up behind them and Shura felt the muzzle of a rifle-blaster against her neck. 

“Put your hands flat on the floor and don’t move,” the trooper said. She obeyed, as did Nethercutt. 

Looking up, she saw the attending officer check on something in his hand, then look at Vesper, who nodded. The man flicked his thumb over the object; all the lights went out momentarily, and then returned to their normal dim glow. 

“Blanker on,” Madine murmured. “So we’re keeping this private, Blaine?”

Vesper went to the middle chair behind the table and sat down. The others, officers and Stormtroopers, stood against the wall, their gazes pinned on Madine. “I want to know what happened on Coruscant.”

General Madine didn’t avoid his gaze. “The Emperor assigned me to execute Senator Mon Mothma as a traitor to the Empire. I refused and helped her to escape to the Rebellion. I was able to escape Coruscant myself finally and joined the Alliance.”

“Why?” Vesper’s tone was so full of anger and demand that Shura saw Nethercutt jump like a startled chick. “Why, Crix? Was it for _her_?”

“It was because of _him,_ ” Madine said, “not her.”

Shura hung her head lest any of the Imperials knew her people’s expressions and noted her disbelief in the general’s last claim.

Madine continued, “The Emperor chose me specifically for her execution because I was her friend. It wasn’t done out of kindness - ”

“Since when is kindness part of our work?” 

“It should be. We’re better than that, Vesper,” Madine replied. “We are supposed to be. What is your assignment – ongoing assignment?”

“You were always my assignment.”

“I thought so,” Madine murmured. “He’d send my best friend to hunt me down.”

“I know you the best.”

“Who gave you the orders to hunt me?” Vesper didn’t answer. “Who gave them to you, Vesper? Darth Vader – or the Emperor?” Vesper’s eyelids flickered. “I thought so. Why you?”

Vesper replied tonelessly, “I was the logical choice. You were my officer.”

“I was your friend. You named your first son after me. Did the Emperor enjoy giving the order?

The question hung in the air and Shura found herself holding her breath. The last place she ever thought she’d be was on the sideline of questions of the Emperor’s sanity.

“The Empire has become a reflection of the Emperor,” Madine said, the strength in his voice fading. “Look at what its done in the last few years. Mon Calamari. Lanark. Alderaan.”

“They rebelled. The Emperor said that Alderaan was deep in plans for overthrowing Coruscant. I remember the Separatist Wars, Crix. We need a strong central government – “

“He built a Death Star to stop anyone who stood in his way. They destroyed a home world and killed as many of the survivors as they could,” Madine countered. “What are your orders now?” 

The soldiers stirred, looked at another, stayed silent. Vesper’s gaze never left Madine’s. 

“Standing orders are to take you to the Emperor. The same applies to Senator Mon Mothma.”

Madine’s smile was wry. “Yes, he’d want to kill us together. What are you going to do now, Vesper?”

Vesper eyed him warily. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play that game. If the Death Star’s destroyed, then your orders no longer apply. There’s no Emperor to hand me over to.”

Nethercutt gasped, his eyes wide. He glanced at Shura who was equally taken aback. Never in her imagination did she think that this attack was on the Emperor himself. 

“What are you going to do, Blaine?” Madine finished. “What are you going to do now?” 

Vesper looked at his men. Following his gaze, Shura couldn’t tell what they were thinking although there did seem to be some unspoken communication going on. 

Madine closed his eyes, his breathing slightly labored. From his pallor, his pain was constant. Shura raised her hand to steady him in the chair as he swayed, then remembered the threat from the soldier behind her. She froze, fearing the worst but there was no movement to stop her gesture.

 _Tell her that I tried to come back,_ she felt through their touch, the thought startling Shura with its clarity.

“Well, there’s one thing I can do right now,” Vesper stood, having come to some conclusion with the others. “Hold them.” 

Shura and Nethercutt were grabbed by their Stormtroopers and dragged back, away from the general, protesting until one of them put his hand around Shura’s throat, squeezing slightly. She stopped moving.

Vesper walked up to Madine, who hadn’t moved except to open his eyes. Shura could see resignation on his face. 

“I always said she was your distraction,” Vesper said harshly. “This is going to hurt.”

“I’m sure,” Madine muttered, his eyes closing and jaw clenching. 

Vesper, with great delicacy, pulled on Madine’s arm and Shura heard a snick as the dislocated bone slid back into the socket.

Madine collapsed, unconscious. Vesper caught him, then laid him on the cold metal floor with unexpected gentleness. “Kelp,” he called and one of the officers came over with the brown box. Cracking it open, Shura saw a medical kit. 

Madine stirred. Kelp laid his hand on his shoulder. “Hold on, Major. Let me finish working on you.”

Shura realized that the trooper’s grip on her arms had relaxed. She pulled herself free but didn’t move forward. Madine didn’t need her. She now knew who the unknown woman was and had a message for her. She fine-turned her mental feed and sent out a blast hopeful that someone could hear it.

 

On Endor, Leia Organa awoke with a jolt that knocked her into full consciousness.

_He's alive. She's right. Mon Mothma's right. Crix Madine is alive._

The hut was no longer black with night. Beyond the doorway where last evening she had only half-unrolled the leather curtain, the rain had stopped. Leia saw silver light through the thinly wattled walls, and outside the door, the grey dawn, was fading away before broad streaks of daylight. Leia rolled off the warm bedding, leaving Han asleep. It had been a tumultuous night of loving away the uncertainties of the day, and Leia had slipped into a deep, contented rest, unbothered by the pouring rain or Mon Mothma’s threats. 

Now she grabbed clothing off the floor, taking the first tunic she found, not bothering with an under-blouse, and pulling up her breeches. Finding her boots, hopping on one foot then the other to get them on, Leia was driven by a need she didn’t understand. How she knew so emphatically that Madine was alive, she couldn’t say. _Maybe it had to do with yesterday’s déjà vu,_ she thought, her sleep-muddled mind making connections that she would have scoffed at when fully awake. 

Madine on the stairs – _no, that was Luke on the stairs, but -- I’ve seen Madine on the stairs, with Mon Mothma below, smiling at him – haven’t I?_

Leia slowed for a second, fastening her boot over-straps, trying to remember. 

When had she seen that? _The air full of delicate fragrance, so familiar she must have smelled it in her womb, and the blue and grey banners tossed in a light breeze. She heard music and laughter and saw dancing through tall, half-opened doors. Light spilled out on the flagstone balcony below, lighting up Mon Mothma’s filmy green dress –_ Leia shook her head. The memories faded. _Where was that? Mothma would never wear anything that flimsy._

No matter, there was no time for that puzzle now. She had to tell the _Alderaan_ that Madine was alive. 

Her mind cleared as she slipped into a poncho, then stepped quickly down the stairs. Who would she call? Who would obey her instincts? Only one man would do so without a lot of argument. 

She reached the comm center at a run, swinging on the door frame to brake and calling out, “Captain Dubow? Do we have a line to the command ship?”

He nodded, eying her general disarray. “Yes, Princess.”

Yes, she was wearing Han’s shirt, the sleeves falling over her hand when she had to push her hair out of her eyes. “I want you to reach Lando Calrissian,” Leia said.

Dubow, as ever, took no further notice of any oddity in the morning and in brisk, quick time raised the command ship along the encrypted line. Leia was suddenly looking at Admiral Ackbar answering as the on-duty officer. 

_Damn._

“PRINCESS LEIA, I AM GLAD TO SEE YOU SAFE,” Ackbar said bluntly. “HOW IS THE SENATOR?”

“She’s fine,” Leia replied, half-realizing that Ackbar would note her undress and not caring as the overwhelming urge drove her blunt report. “Admiral, General Madine is alive.”

Ackbar gave the Mon Calamari version of a frown. “THAT SEEMS UNLIKELY, PRINCESS. EVEN IF HIS ESCAPE POD IS SOMEWHERE ACCESSIBLE, THERE ARE THOUSANDS OF PIECES OF DEBRIS TO EXAMINE.”

 _Escape pod?_ Leia didn’t spare a blink at the rope he’d offered. “We’ve received intelligence that says the Empire is looking for him specifically in that area, Admiral. I want General Calrissian to go find him.”

Lando, who’d stepped in holo-scan range at Ackbar’s right as she was first speaking, looked nonplussed. And he didn’t argue. “WHAT’S THIS ABOUT, LEIA?”

“AN UNLIKELY –“

“You’re going to find General Madine,” she ordered, over-speaking Ackbar. “I know he’s alive, Lando. Just as I knew Luke was hanging on Cloud City.” 

Lando started, absorbing her statement. Leia knew that he remembered very well her insistence that they would, and his astonishment when they did, discover Luke exactly where she directed Chewbacca to fly the Falcon.

“THIS IS RIDICULOUS, PRINCESS,” the Mon Calamari said, becoming conciliatory. “THERE ARE THOUSANDS – “

“NO, IT’S ALL RIGHT,” Lando, too, cut him off, but he gave Ackbar a most charming smile. “I UNDERSTAND WHAT THE PRINCESS IS AFTER. IF SHE SAYS THAT GENERAL MADINE IS THERE, THEN I SHOULD GO AND FIND HIM.”

“I WAS GOING TO SEND YOUR SHIP TO LOOK FOR THE _ARMADA,_ ” Ackbar said, his dissatisfaction bright orange along his forehead ridges. 

“YOU’VE SENT THE OTHERS,” Lando pressed. “PRINCESS LEIA IS SURE GENERAL MADINE IS OUT THERE.”

“Go now, Lando,” Leia said, the urgency pressing on her. “I think you’d better hurry.”

Ackbar didn’t understand but, from the flick of his long fingers, he was giving up on the humans. “GO AHEAD, GENERAL CALRISSIAN. PRINCESS LEIA, PLEASE TELL THE SENATOR WHAT IS BEING DONE.” 

_On her behalf,_ went unsaid.

“I will, Admiral. Endor out.” Leia broke the contact and stared over the console, telling herself, telling whatever drove this unasked-for need. _It’s done. I hope that’s what you need. But, it’s done._

Dubow sent her a speculative look but, as ever, said nothing. 

 

Vesper knew that the next step wouldn’t be easy. The others, officers and troopers, were with him, but restive. They might see the logic of being a bridge between the Empire and the triumphant Alliance but the implementation was not going to be easy.

First, take control of the _Paoli_ ; next, use the ship and crew as leverage to reach the Alliance and make their offer. 

“So, what now?” Apton asked from the door. “What’s your plan, sir?”

“Amnesty. We trade Madine for amnesty,” Vesper started with a goal. “We offer to talk with the others in the military so there’d be a smooth handover to the new government,” and ended with a troublesome part. “Step one - we take over this ship.” 

His team took a moment to consider the idea, a moment longer than usual.

“There are ten TIE pilots, twenty techs, the officers, some troopers and various ‘droids,” Apton observed. “And there are four of us and the troopers.”

“And thirty rebels,” added one of the rebels in the room without being asked, a tech from her insignia. “The prisoners.”

“Who’d shoot us as happily as they’d shoot the crew,” the medic said acidly. “Let’s not use them, General.” 

Vesper silently agreed. 

“That lieutenant will expel the prisoners if he thinks we’re surrendering,” Apton continued. “I know his type. In his world, there is only the Empire -- set in ferro-concrete. He won’t handle this well.”

“The captain?” another one of the troop said. “You met him, General.” 

“Brogham’s record shows he’s not a fighter. Spent the last years in rescue operations and has picked up both sides. He’s also on the verge of retirement.” Vesper glanced at Apton. “He put Crix in with the prisoners to keep him safe. I think we need to do the same.”

Madine roused. “Give us some way to fight back,” he said weakly. “Don’t leave us as victims, Blaine.”

“Without him,” the tech said, “coming to terms with the Alliance is twice as hard.” 

Vesper looked more closely at the feathery human, seeing in her eyes that she understood the full implications of his plan. How had she guessed what he was thinking? “You’re right…?”

“Shura,” the tech replied, sinking to one knee beside Madine, checking him with unobtrusive care to his comfort – and to minimize any objection from Vesper’s party. 

“You’ve got a champion there. Hope you’re worth it,” Vesper said humorously. him. Madine rewarded him with a faint smile. “But I’m not going to give you any guns. Ready to move?”

“What are we doing?” their pessimistic medic demanded. 

“Kelp, we are taking General Madine back to his friends, and then we will take over this ship. Apton, you’re right. Step one is to permanently block Eliliam’s ability to space them all or we lose our pawns. How's the painkiller going, Crix?"

"Can't feel anything now," Madine replied, startling them with a bright grin. 

"Good. I’ll save the beating for another time. You and you," Vesper waved to Shura and Nethercutt, "Pick him up. Don't be afraid to get a good grip on that arm! He won’t feel anything…or that’s what he says."

Madine swayed as they helped him up, but said nothing. 

Vesper watched as the Stormtroopers helped arrange the tableau. _Is this going to work? All that crap about the Emperor causing his treason? I don’t believe it. It was that woman that he did it for. I wonder if he’s finally told her that he’s in love with her?_

Everyone was in line. Vesper nodded, “Take him out.”

 

Leia had almost reached the second resident hut level when she heard the sound of speeder bikes. Stopping at the outer banister of a platform where the stairs turned to the left, she looked back down and saw Luke, and other guards ready to ride. Hearing footsteps on the next reach of stair, she turned. Mon Mothma was coming down from the upper level, her eyes looking over Leia and her attention on the noisy gathering below. The older woman’s face was pale but well composed, and her smooth hair flared deep red in the morning sunshine.

“You were right,” Leia said suddenly, stopping Mothma a step above the platform. Leia came closer, her hands held out in the greeting of peace and hope. “You were right,” she said with all the conviction she could muster. “He’s alive.” 

Desperation flashed in the Commander’s eyes, then her face became a mask. 

“I’ve sent Lando to find him,” Leia added to reinforce the truth in her claim. 

“And what does Admiral Ackbar say about that?” Mon Mothma asked coming down to face her. 

“He believed me, Commander.” The urgency swelled in Leia and she added before thinking, “Madine wants you to know that he’s alive.”

Leia realized her mistake a fraction of second after making it. Mothma’s face showed shock. How would Leia Organa know this? There was no strong empathic evidence among Alderaani, or known Force sensitivity in the Organa bloodline. _But there is in the Skywalker line. She always knew that I was adopted. Is she going to put it together?_

“Thank you,” Mothma finally said then walked past her to the next race of stairs and continued her way down to the common grounds. 

Much to Leia’s surprise, Klimet appeared beside her. Had he been on the stairs behind Mon Mothma? Had she been so intent on telling the Commander her news that she didn’t see him? The captain paused to finish putting on his gloves. His expression was straight out of ice fields of Hoth. “Princess, I hope that what you’ve said is true,” he said quietly, “I would hate to have the Senator hurt.” 

Leia stared at him blankly; A moment later, her cheeks burned furiously. 

She watched Klimet disappear down the stairs, then went back to the outer banister. Looking over, Leia saw Mon Mothma clamber on the speeder behind Luke. Her brother looked up, saw her and shot a look of warning; then he gunned the speeder and they were away, armed guards on each side. 

_That was not well-handled._ Leia sighed. And yet. she realized, the urgency was gone. Mon Mothma knew Madine was alive. _Tell him that,_ she thought to whatever had driven her out of bed and into an awkward morning. _Tell him, we’re coming._

Back in her hut, she found Han still asleep. Leia undressed, this time putting the clothing on chairs, his and hers. She slid in beside him, pulling the blanket over them both. 

She fell asleep.


	5. Proof of death for the Alliance

No more than a quarter-hour after leaving the village, Mon Mothma climbed off the back of Luke's speeder and shook her poncho to lie loosely once again as she looked around. The clearing just beyond the forest edge looked much like the village common grounds, complete with the smell of wet cinders and damp earth, save for more underbrush and the occasional sapling.

She'd enjoyed the ride very much. So much that she'd whispered at one point, "Faster!" and was startled to feel Luke laugh and speed up. Klimet was going to have a few words with both of them about that. Her bodyguard was much put upon this trip. 

Mothma admitted to herself that the pleasure she found on Endor was more than polite exposition for the sake of the Ewok chieftain. The fresh air and green around her lifted her spirits tremendously. Rest areas among the hydroponics on the _Alderaan_ weren't the same; she'd never had much time to spend there anyway. 

The thought that she was very close to knowing that Darth Vader was truly dead also enriched her mood. She was sorry that she'd had to put Skywalker through this pain, sorry that she'd used a threat, but this affirmation, however grisly, was necessary. The universe was better for the loss of Darth Vader and its citizens deserved to know about their release. Billions of beings who had lived in fear of the cyborg and his power would rejoice that he was gone.

Anakin Skywalker had died a long time ago, but after he and Padme had had a secret to keep. One day, Luke would sit down, think through what she had told him, and realize that Vader was nothing to him.

If that weren’t enough, Leia’s words repeated in her heart, nourishing her hope. How the princess might know, Mothma didn’t know; maybe the girl’s own awkward situation awoke her sympathies, allowing her to share Mothma’s own certainty. 

_Oh, let it be true. Please._

A noisy company of yellow and purple long-tailed birds flushed; Mothma paid attention and realized that Luke had walked ahead, deeper into the clearing and to the right where the land dipped slightly behind an encroachment of trees. _Time for work,_ Mothma told herself and quickened her step. The others, Klimet and the troops, were following and nearly caught up with her. Mothma glanced at trees that marked the clearing edge on either side; monitor 'droids zipping about in the forest, she knew, making sure there was no danger. The captain was taking no chances. Coming up on her left, she saw two soldiers guiding a large box that would hold Vader's remains -- or whatever Luke was giving them. 

Beyond the curve, they came into an area where the grass was charred and burnt wood littered the ground. Rain had washed cinders into the grass and every step brought up the smell of burned leather, metal and plastic. 

Luke stopped where the ground was charcoal black, his back stiff, his eyes down, his head not quite bowed. 

Mothma steeled herself. Corpses weren't part of her usual job.

Klimet stepped ahead, moving among the ruins of a bier and found a battered, cracked face mask. Picking it up, he brushed off the wet cinders and held it up for Mon Mothma to see. 

She let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Mothma nodded. She recognized it as Vader’s. The captain came up to her with his prize. Later, she though that she might have at least looked to see Skywalker’s reaction, but the drama of the moment captured her. Mothma took the battered mask and held the end of 25 years in her hands. After a moment, she breathed again and turned the flared oval upside down. Inside was an elaborate web of machinery and sensors. No flesh or bone. It was as if he had been a 'droid like those of the Separatist era, like the unlamented General Grevious who had threatened the Republic. “This will do,” she said softly, then raised her voice for everyone to hear. “This will be the proof we need. He’s gone."

Klimet waved to the soldiers who carried the box forward and opened it. Mon Mothma set the mask in; her hands were shaking. Then she took the helmet from him and set it beside the mask. Her breath caught She was staring at Darth Vader himself, his face, his head, the last thing so many saw before they died. She felt colder than damp air could ever leave her; her very bones shivered. She stepped back, brushing her hands together quickly, and watched the troopers gather other bits of plastic and metal that had survived the fire. 

Mothma tried to recall what Anakin Skywalker looked like, but all she could call up was height, and an intensity that was difficult to endure, that had for many reasons irrevocably merged with the fearsome terror that was Darth Vader. She remembered hearing of Padme’s funeral, being unable to go lest Palpatine be reminded that they had known each other. Bail had said that Anakin killed Padme. Mothma closed her eyes. She didn’t have to remember any of this any more.

She found Luke at the edge of the clearing, where he stood, studying the air. "Thank you, Captain. I know this was hard." The platitude fell flat; she felt Luke’s indifference as she spoke. Stupid statement. She told him, "I have another job for you now. I want you to go to Coruscant. Go into the Emperor's tower and shut it down.” 

He frowned slightly, but his attention was caught. "The Emperor's tower? Why me and not some well-placed explosives?"

"Because you are a Jedi – and he was a Sith like Vader."

Luke gazed out into the green trees that ringed the clearing for a long moment, then looked back at her. "So, you think I'm a Jedi?"

Mothma waited her own thoughtful moment. "You’re the only survivor I know,” she said. “Maybe more will come out, though Vader hunted them for years. You will have to open the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, as well. But, first, the Alliance has to know what's in that ugly tower.” She paused, but he said nothing and she regretted the loss of the enthusiastic youth who appeared at Leia’s side barely 4 years ago. With a shrug, she added, “Maybe I should go myself--"

"No!" Luke apparently startled himself with his emphatic denial. Still caught in the moment, he turned to face her, looking so much like Leia had back in the village that Mothma was speechless even before he declared, "You'll die if you go in there."

The simple statement shook her more. What did Jedi know that others didn't? Mothma remembered stories she learned as a child, dismissed as an adult. Then her common sense cut in. "If I don't have--"

"You should never go in there," Luke elaborated. "Nor should General Madine. He's set a trap for you."

After a fraction of a second, she realized that he was referring to the Emperor, not Madine. “The Emperor’s dead."

"His traps are set." 

Luke’s wrist com flashed, interrupting the future. Birds squawked in the bush again, loud and insistent, and they both heard a hail from Klimet. “The landing base is under attack,” he called to them. “Get back here!”

“So is the village,” Luke shouted back. He looked up from the message. “We need to get you to the shuttle,” he said, taking Mothma’s arm.

A blaster bolt shrilled past them and a bush exploded with purple and gold feathers. Luke shoved Mothma down. A second one burned by, missing her by centimeters. Above Mothma’s head, Skywalker’s light saber appeared, humming into a blue-white glare as he blocked a third blast. 

Around them, Klimet and his troops were shooting randomly, trying to find the enemy. 

From under her poncho, Mon Mothma pulled a small gun out of its strap on her belt and also looked around for something to shoot at. Bigger guns were better, she knew that-- this one was for desperate straits –and she was glad the Jedi stood above her, blocking the increasing fire. 

_Who are these people? What happened to the sensor ‘droids?_

Crackling in the undergrowth! Mothma turned to see Klimet running up, firing. She looked the other way and an Imperial stormtrooper fell across the charred bush and feathers. 

“What the hell is going on here?” she said sharply. 

Klimet slid in beside them, firing from behind Luke and over the heads of their guard into the trees. Another stormtrooper fell out of the forest onto the clearing. The rebels weren’t using stun guns. 

“ _Naboo_ says that the _Armada_ just came out of hyperspace, loaded to fire,” he reported. “Apparently, they’re attacking multiple sites.”

“Do they know I’m here?” 

“Not from the comm traffic _Naboo_ ’s picked up from the left-over battle ships. But this one took out the sensor ‘droids just before attacking us.” Klimet’s face as grim. “ _Naboo_ ’s attacking the _Armada_ , Commander.”

“I’m going in,” Luke interrupted. “Guard her.”

“Yes, sir,” Klimet said. “I’ll take over.”

Luke vanished into the woods, almost too quickly for Mothma to see. Klimet pulled on her sleeve. “Back to the group, Senator.” 

She nodded, retreating with him. From a fallen trooper, Mothma picked up a laze-rifle and held it ready. Klimet blinked in surprise, but said nothing. He checked his wristcom. “The landing area is secure. We might be able to get there on the bikes.”

“We take the box,” Mothma said through gritted teeth. She turned back to the clearing center. “That is more important than me, Klimet.”

“Not to Admiral Ackbar,” Klimet said flatly. He laid a hand on her arm. “I have my orders, Senator. I am going to answer to him if you don’t come back.” 

Mon Mothma’s eyes narrowed, but she wasn’t going to go into it at the moment. Was that why Klimet, the head of ship security, was with her? She’d wondered. She could just imagine Ackbar’s orders as well.

“There!” Klimet yelled. 

Two stormtroopers came into view, and they fired together. Mothma didn’t know who hit first, but both troopers went down. 

Klimet pursed his lips, nodded approvingly, and then began firing in other directions. “I have called for help.”

“Good,” Mon Mothma muttered. “Let’s try not to shoot Luke.” 

They continued to fire, unhappy to notice that the attackers were increasing. 

Then -- a roar overhead, a pressure blast blowing soot all around leaving a ship hovering, firing into the dense foliage. Imperial fire hit the bottom of the _Millennium Falcon_ and its guns fired back. 

Klimet smiled but kept his blaster high and ready. “If they land, you get aboard.”

Mothma tucked her weapon back into her belt and nodded. “Get the box.”

The captain made the low run back down the clearing during bursts of ship fire; three rounds and he was again at Mothma’s side. Together they scrambled toward the hovering ship, its landing ramp down. Han Solo waved them on from the open door. 

Not yet close enough, new fire burst from the trees. Klimet returned fire and Mothma hit the antigrav controls on the box. It rose, and, running low, pulling it behind her, she ran for the ship.

A shot burned passed her leg; she cursed and almost stumbled. The box swiveled and rocked. 

The _Falcon_ landed on the soggy earth, the open hatch cutting a trench in the wet ground. “Leave it!” Han ordered as Mothma dragged the box closer. “Get on board – “ He swore as several blasts hit the undercarriage. He began firing. 

She pulled the box around her and shoved hard. It flew up the ramp, narrowly missing Solo. Mothma’s feet slipped on the kicked-up mud and she fell, covering her head as blaster bolts went between her and the doorway. 

Han dodged inside yelling unintelligibly.

 _The pilot has to be Chewbacca…_ Mon Mothma thought irrelevantly, crawling forward. The ramp was closer but to get on it she’d be a target. 

A cluster of shots from the Alliance soldiers, then Han was back beckoning fiercely to her. The guns atop the Falcon swiveled and began a long, staccato firing into the woods. The Imperial shots paused. 

Other Alliance soldiers ran for the ship. Mon Mothma took a deep breath and scrambled to her knees. 

Suddenly Klimet was next to her, on the side from where a barrage of hot fire suddenly erupted. “Move, Senator!” he yelled, sheltering her. Mothma ran, Klimet right beside her. 

Bolts flashed past them, burning her clothing. Han fired and for a moment, the whine of blaster fire dimmed. 

Mothma jumped on the platform and ran up, feeling heat across her back, a sharp stroke at her hip. Solo waved her faster in, shooting with the other hand, then cursing over a hard rattle of the ramp. 

She almost stumbled on the inner floor, then pushed herself away from the inner hall wall and spun around. In the bright outside light, she saw Klimet sprawled on the lower ramp.

“I’ll cover you,” she shouted, the rifle ready in her hand. ‘Get him!”

Han rushed down the ramp, an Alliance soldier ran up. Mon Mothma fired over their heads as the men hauled the captain’s unconscious body into the _Falcon._ More soldiers appeared, taking up the burden with Solo coming up behind. He jumped inside the ship, hit the controls and the wall slammed shut.

“Luke?” Mothma asked, still leaning against the hull. A soldier stepped up as if to help her and she simply handed him the rifle.

“Already messaged us. Don’t worry about him,” Han said, scanning the hall, counting heads and measuring the battle still going on outside. “Chewie,” he shouted up the hall, over Mothma’s shoulder, “Get us out of here!”

“What about Leia and Dubow?”

The troops has started listening; Solo also noticed. “The village was attacked, but Ewoks did most of the fighting,” he reported. “The troopers were all from three landing ships. The _Naboo_ took those out.” 

“And the _Armada_?” Three soldiers knelt by Klimet, checking his vitals; the captain looked dead, but Mothma could see his chest move. That he was still alive was of vast relief. She’d come to depend on the officer. Worried, she looked back at Solo. “When do we expect --?”

“That’s the weird thing,” Han said, puzzled. “It’s gone. Naboo says it turned away when attacked and went to light speed. Just vanished.”

“Christof isn’t known for retreat,” she murmured. “I wonder why?” But that was too odd for speculation. Instead of spooking everyone, she stood straighter. “Why don’t we go to the Naboo?”

“Not until we know where that damned star destroyer’s gone,” Han said firmly. “We are not risking you,” He forestalled argument by pointing to the box that had landed on its side a few feet down and against the inner wall. “Is that what I think it is? Is it worth it?”

Her leg stiff, Mothma felt less in control than she wished as she moved across the hall to push the box upright. She supposed she wasn’t surprised that none of the solicitous soldiers helped her opened it. Solo himself stepped back, his mouth hanging open in silent exclamation and disbelief when she lifted Vader’s helmet out from the other charred evidence. “Yes, it’s worth it!” Mon Mothma stated crisply. She held her prize high enough for everyone to see. “He’s gone, and now the galaxy will know that, and believe.”

Around her, the soldiers gaped, their eyes widening. She understood suddenly that this image of the triumphant Commander would travel throughout the galaxy -- by word of mouth if no one had the presence of mind to turn on a helmet viewer -- further and wider than any broadcast she’d ever make. And she was too tired to care what she looked like, covered with mud and smelling like wet cinders and perspiration.

Heads jerked up at an overhead roar, Han turned on his heel and was off down the hall, calling, “Chewie! Take us to the village!” His voice faded, “I know it’ll be tight! We can land there. Leia says it’s safe.”

Mon Mothma dropped the helmet with a clang into the box. "It's heavy," she murmured, feeling a sudden distance from the intensity that had insisted Vader's helmet come with her, that had carried her through the fighting. Adrenaline dump, she recognized, stepping back, feeling her right leg give way. 

She collapsed, sprawling in vast surprise on the metal floor. 

_Oh, no. Damn. This will be bad._

Feet thumped; she felt the metal flooring shake. She heard shouts. By the time she'd rolled over, gently flexing the traitorous leg, two Alliance soldiers crouched over her, ordering their Commander to stay still. 

One touched her and she flinched, from modesty more than pain. She knew that that her pants were ripped, but the trooper was touching her skin, feeling for a wound or blood, from her knee nearly up to her right hip,. Worse, his cool fingers made her realize that the leg was hot. 

She moved her leg, no matter the insistence that she keep still, and knew that it worked.

"Blaster wound burned but didn't break skin, Senator," the soldier said professionally, lightly laying a hand on her knee to bring it back down. "Probably shocked your system."

"I don't –" Mothma caught that distracted, first reaction. Remembering who she was, where she was, she nodded and said solemnly, "Thank you. I think I can get up."

"Just sit up first," he corrected, bringing his hand to her elbow. The other soldier braced her left side. "I'll see if General Solo has anything to spray on as a skin shield. It will sting for a couple of days, Senator."

Obedient, she sat against the bulwark and smiled weakly. Yes, indeed her leg stung. She could feel it now and agreed that it would not go away. "How's Captain Klimet?" 

"He's breathing. We should be landing at the village soon." 

She nodded. The troops acknowledged and found other tasks that needed doing. 

Mothma gingerly flexed her leg again, unable to ignore a hurt that extended far beyond where the soldier had probed. 

She sighed. _Ceeli is going to kill me._

 

Shura was overwhelmed with happiness. Her shoulders were still bruised from being held, but an Alliance trooper was right there when the bay door slid open, ready to take Madine's weight off her shoulders and guide the general back into their prison. The Imperials had kept Nethercutt; the last she’d seen the computer tech, his hands were shaking. But Shura felt no danger directed at the young man; and hoped that her sly reassuring smile had broken through his desperate fear.

Unexpectedly, Madine grasped her arm and pulled her closer. "Tell them about Vader and the Emperor," he ordered in a low voice, “and then bring Smythe to me. Watch out for the holo cameras."

"Yes, sir," she said with a nod. 

Madine sank against the wall, his face pale. The painkillers were working, he said; he couldn't feel a thing. She could tell he was lying. 

Smythe was coming up quickly. Shura stepped away from where Madine rested and reached out to take the pilot’s arm and capture his attention. "They said... We heard...," she whispered, “Darth Vader is dead. So is… so is the Emperor.”

The man’s eyes went wide. He looked at Madine, who nodded, a hint of a smile on his lips, then back at Shura and again at the general. 

"We won?"

"That battle," Madine agreed. "The big one. Tell everyone so they so they can celebrate."

Smythe turned and walked, a bit dazed, into the middle of the bay. He held his arms wide and called out, "We won! Darth Vader's dead! The Emperor is -- " He shook off his amazement and punched the air. “He’s dead! We --” The response roared over his words, the cheers, honking, and all manner of high and low pitched rejoicing buzzed loud and unintelligibly in Shura’s ears. She flinched and turned away from the overwhelming, happy noise. 

But the general’s smile was broad and in full view and affirmation. Satisfaction glowed on his face, softening the physical distress. He nodded at the room and she remembered to call Smythe back.

The pilot saw Madine beckon him in chorus with Shura. He hurried over, dropping down on one knee at the general’s side. Shura knew what Madine, holding himself steady with a hand on the man’s arm, whispered under all the noise and hoped that Smythe was subtle enough not to let it slip to the cameras that watched the bay.

He was, although his eyes widened and he pulled back suddenly, breaking Madine's grip and making the general gasp in pain. 

Madine recovered quickly, calmed the pilot down, and sat back to watch the celebrating crowd. He smiled again, if a bit wildly, as if he couldn’t quite believe the happiness washing over them all. Shura could sense his wariness. She hoped that General Vesper kept his word. 

 

When Vesper entered the command deck he saw Elihaim glaring at a side-panel visual of the prisoners' bay. "They think they've won," he complained to Brogham, who looked rather ill. Elihaim swiveled the camera so they could see Madine lying against the wall. "He looks so smug. That disgusting traitor."

Vesper knew that expression and felt his stomach turn uneasily. Crix's tight control was broken if he was that openly triumphant. What was the painkiller that he’d been given? Modon. 

_Damn.He reacts so badly to that. Well, I’ll have to take care of him if he gets out of control._

"Have you heard from the military governor, Captain?" Vesper asked Brogham. He noted the six members of the _Paoli_ command crew on the bridge. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Apton take up position close to Elihaim, but out of the Lieutenant's line-of-sight. Several of Vesper’s stormtroopers unobtrusively made ready against the walls.

“Yes, sir,” Brogham replied. “I’m glad you’re here. We’ll be in communication momentarily.”

That, Vesper could have done without, but he didn’t let it show. 

The holo glitched, then came clear. Governor Turner was tall and as heavy as the Imperial weight limit would allow. Right now he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. “GENERAL VESPER, IS IT TRUE?” he asked before anyone could speak.

“What, sir?” Vesper replied respectfully. 

“THAT THE EMPEROR IS DEAD.” 

That caused gasps of shock on the bridge, and from the corner of his eye Vesper saw Eliliam go pale. 

“YOU WERE ON THE WAY TO THE DEATH STAR – “ The raspy, blunt voice paused.

“To escort him and Lord Vader back to Coruscant,” Vesper confirmed. “By the time we arrived, the Death Star had been destroyed.”

“THERE’S NO CHANCE HE ESCAPED? THERE ARE RUMORS EVERYWHERE.”

Vesper hesitated for a second. “Unless Lord Vader took him on – no, that’s gone as well. It is tremendously unlikely that he is alive, Governor.”

The governor shook his head in disbelief? Disgust? “THAT IS WHAT I’VE HEARD FROM OTHERS.” His eyes narrowed. “BUT -- CORUSCANT SAYS HE’S THERE.”

“No, sir. The Alliance has won this battle, sir. The Death Star and Lord Vader’s ship are both gone.”

“HOW? HOW COULD THEY HAVE DONE IT?”

“They were well-trained, sir, by the traitor, Madine,” Elihiam broke in. If Vesper hadn’t been trying to accomplish something, he would have been amused at the social climbing; now Elihaim was going to be shut up fast. 

Too late he realized the cost of a moment’s indecision when Elihaim continued, “Who we hold prisoner right now.”

Turner’s expression was even harder to read. “I READ THAT IN YOUR MESSAGE, BROGHAM. YOU HAVE MADINE?”

“Yes, sir,” Brogham replied. “He was wounded in the battle.”

“I’ve interrogated him,” Vesper said crisply, knowing the discussion was getting out of hand. “It’s been several days since capture – the Alliance will have changed their codes. He’s – “

“HE’S A TRAITOR, VESPER, AND YOU’LL HAND HIM OVER,” Turner dismissed that line of thought. He sat straighter, perhaps revived. “BROGHAM, UPON RECEIPT OF YOUR CONTACT AND REPORT, I SENT A MESSAGE TO CHRISTOF ON THE _ARMADA._ ”

That shook Vesper. If there were two men who hated each other, it was Crix Madine and Anton Christof. The captain of the _Armada_ would execute him out of hand. “Captain Christof – “

“SHOULD BE THERE SOON,” Turner cut in. “BROGHAM, HAND MADINE OVER – ALL THE PRISONERS OVER -- AND RETURN TO YOUR DUTIES.”

 _And to the rest of the fleet, Christof will be the great man who captured Crix Madine,_ Vesper translated, seeing that Brogham understood that as well. He didn’t look as if he minded. “I think we should think twice on that, sir,” Vesper tried again, “Madine is a general in the Alliance – “

“WHICH WILL BE CRUSHED.” Turner sounded a trifle weak on that note, a bit too political. The _Armada_ was much more real to him, more dependable. 

“They seem to have done a good job of negating our forces so far,” Vesper argued. “Madine could be useful in the future. It would be better - ”

Turner’s face darkened. “HE IS A TRAITOR, GENERAL VESPER. HE WAS ONE OF YOUR MEN, WASN’T HE? IS THAT WHY YOU’RE ARGUING HIS CASE?”

“I am suggesting that executing a General in the Alliance to restore the Republic is not a good idea, sir. This is not the time to be rash or vindictive.”

“CHRISTOF WILL MAKE SURE THAT MADINE BE EXECUTED AS A TRAITOR,” Turner said bluntly. “OUT.”

His holo collapsed into a crackling wave then vanished. 

Vesper sighed slightly. This meant even more trouble. He had to gain control of this ship before the _Armada_ arrived. 

"Sir!" one of the _Paoli_ technicians said in a shocked tone. "There's a new ship out there. It's an Alliance vessel!" 

The bridge crew looked sharp to their stations. Vesper stepped closer to Brogham so he could see the information that was streaming in. 

"It's a battle cruiser," Brogham said, a whisper of intimidation in his voice. "Are they trying to reach us, Elihaim?"

"No, sir," the lieutenant replied. "At the moment, I think they don't see us."

"That won't be for long," Vesper commented. "What are they doing here?" His gaze met Brogham and he saw his assumption answer reflected in the older man’s face. The only reason the Alliance would send a battle cruiser to this spot was to find out what had happened to Crix Madine. 

The complications were coming at them faster. 

"We'd better retreat into the debris field," Brogham said to his pilot. 

Elihaim turned in disbelief. "Retreat?" 

Vesper was aware that the young man was partly acting for his audience, but the performance didn't endear him to Brogham, whose face went red. 

"Good idea," Vesper cut in before the captain could reply. "We're too small a ship to -- "

"Sir, the _Taotaun_ is hailing us," the technician said in resignation. "They've found us, sir."

Brogham clasped his hands tightly behind his back. “Open communications,” he said with very quiet authority.

The holo that hovered over the ship’s small receiver pad was not immediately familiar to Vesper who would have sworn he knew all the Alliance leaders. “THIS IS GENERAL LANDO CALRISSIAN OF THE ALLIANCE. WHO ARE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU HERE?”

Brogham took a deep breath and set his shoulders; he was the representative of the Empire being addressed. “The Imperial search-and-rescue ship _Paoli_. We are collecting survivors after the battle.”

“‘SURVIVORS’?” Calrissian replied. “HAVE YOU BEEN COLLECTING OUR LIFE PODS?”

“Yes, sir,” Brogham said, his tone surer. The captain was proud of his work. “We have some Alliance prisoners and have taken care of their needs.”

Alliance. Brogham didn’t call them rebels. Vesper suspected that the captain didn’t care what side of the conflict the beings he rescued were from. _No wonder he’s got this small ship of no importance. He’s not partisan._

Calrissian’s expression changed subtly. “I WANT THEM, CAPTAIN BROGHAM. ALL OF THEM.” 

All of them. _All of them_? Vesper looked carefully at the holo and then knew that this general was here for Crix. Another angle to calculate. _He knows that Madine’s alive somehow._

Vesper saw that Apton was standing near Ehiliam. Catching the man’s eye, understanding flowed between them. Apton moved closer to the lieutenant who stiffly stared, glared, at the holo. 

“We have a ship full of TIE pilots and fighters to defend ourselves, General,” Vesper cut in, waving to the communications tech to activate his holo. “I believe that there might be some kind of trade available.”

“YOU ARE?” Calrissian inquired politely, his expression growing wary. Vesper guessed that the markings on his uniform had been recognized. 

“General Vesper, Imperial Special Forces,” Vesper identified himself. “Assigned to escort duties on the Death Star.”

“YOUR ASSIGNMENT NO LONGER EXISTS, GENERAL,” Calrissian replied with an intriguing drawl of certainty. He addressed Brogham, his voice fading back into professionalism. “YOU CAN PUT UP A FIGHT, CAPTAIN, BUT WE WILL TAKE THE SHIP.”

“Not before we can space our prisoners,” Ehiliam cut in defiantly, making everyone jump. To emphasize his astute judgment, he added, “That’s why I put them in that bay, Captain Brogham.”

Vesper regretted that the boy was still alive. He was raising the odds in this game. 

“AND THAT IS?” Calrissian asked his counterpart, whose eye was on Elihaim.  
“My lieutenant,” the captain said in an icy tone. “Lieutenant, you are relieved from the bridge – “

“Let him stay,” Vesper cut in. He had to take control of this. He didn’t want Ehiliam loose anywhere where he couldn’t see him. “General Calrissian, I believe that we can make a deal on the prisoners,” Vesper said quietly. 

He saw a trace of relief on Brogham’s face. The man was not a combat officer who relished a fight. 

Calrissian replied, “I MUST FORMALLY ASK FOR YOUR SURRENDER, GENERAL, BEFORE WE CAN DO BUSINESS.”

Business. Ah, yes. Vesper remembered the updates after Vader’s business at a free-lance mining works. Interesting report on the owner who took off with the rebel princess the Dark Lord had so carelessly lost. Calrissian had been a businessman, a gambler, before joining the Rebellion. He would think in those terms. “I’m afraid I can’t give you my surrender, General.”

Calrissian’s expression sharpened. “WHY, GENERAL?”

“Because I’ve already surrendered to the Alliance.” Vesper pressed a button on his jacket. “Kelp, bring General Madine to the bridge, now!”

Calrissian’s game face broke. “MADINE? YOU HAVE GENERAL MADINE?”

“You traitor!” Ehiliam spat at Vesper. He stabbed at a console button. Too late Vesper remembered his eagerness to space the prisoners; the man had been standing at the proper operations station at first contact and he stood there now. 

But Apton was on it. He grabbed Ehiliam. He jerked the man away from the boards and slammed the lieutenant against the wall. Then he picked Ehiliam up, spun him around and stabbed a blaster hard at Ehiliam’s throat.

“Please don’t kill him,” Captain Brogham said weakly. “I’ve just had enough of the killing.”

Vesper could sympathize, but that might not be practical. His peripheral vision registered Calrissian’s stunned expression. No, this wasn’t the normal way that business was conducted on Imperial ships. 

_This isn’t a normal time._

Ehiliam decided to struggle, not too badly either. Apton gave him one hard knock on the side of the head and the young fool collapsed on the deck.


	6. Coming home

The troopers began shooting and the command crew lay limp on the floor. Through the shower of sparks and stun blasts, Vesper saw Brogham slump in his chair with his hands over his face, expecting an executioner’s shot. He saw the bridge door open and Crix Madine appeared, his omnipresent helper, Shura, on one side and on the other a brawny X-Wing pilot from his bright orange jumpsuit. They pulled back from the blaster fire, then stumbled forward, shoved by Kelp. A laze bolt shot by too close. The pilot sheltered Madine, tripping all three against the wall, Madine yelping in pain.

Kelp dropped to one side, now armed and always keeping Madine in his sights. 

_Good man. Just don’t kill him._

Apton stopped shooting. “Room clear, sir.” 

Slowly, Brogham looked around. Of the command crew, only he was still upright. The others lay where they fell. He sought Vesper’s attention, barely controlling the fear – and contempt -- in his voice. “You killed them?”

“They’re stunned, sir.” Apton answered, “Killing can be unnecessary. You can’t interrogate dead men.”

Madine laughed, and Vesper saw Calrissian’s expression sharpen. “Apton, transmit holo of General Madine to the Alliance.”

A moment passed as Apton addressed the comm controls. Calrissian waiting in wary readiness sat upright suddenly. 

“Lando!” Madine greeted him cheerfully 

Calrissian slapped the arm of his chair, his smile broad, his laugh deep and hearty. “GENERAL MADINE! NICE TO SEE YOU AGAIN, SIR.”

“You’re going to need some help to board this ship,” Madine informed him breezily as if he leaned against the wall for no reason at all but to relax. 

An alarm shrilled. Kelp pulled an unconscious tech out of a chair, took his place and checked the readings. “We’ve got another ship coming in, General.”

“IT’S THE _Armada_!” came a shout behind Calrissian, The man shot Vesper one angry look, and the holo vanished. 

“You’re going to need some piloting help, too,” Madine observed with just the proper hint of concern. “You’ve knocked out the command crew.” Like a genial host, he called up his man, “Smythe, you know how to pilot this class of ship, don’t you?”

“Uh, what?” the startled pilot replied. “Um -- ” 

“Apton, take control. You help,” Vesper interrupted the garden party. “Sit down. Helm’s yours, Apton. Brogham? Brogham!” He snapped at the stunned Imperial, “Open your controls to us.”

The holo receiver buzzed. On reflex the captain accepted and a figure formed. 

Not Calrissian. Vesper stepped quietly out of holo sight. 

Anton Christof looked impatient. “THIS IS THE _Armada_. I SEE YOU ARE UNDER ATTACK BY AN ALLIANCE VESSEL. WHAT IS YOUR SITUATION?”

Brogham stared vacantly around, and then shook himself back into the here and now. “What do I say, General Vesper?” he said, standing at command rest.

“That you need no assistance from the _Armada_ because you are doing a trade of prisoners with the Alliance vessel under truce,” Vesper improvised. He had to get Christof out of here. 

“Will he believe me?”

“Make him,” Vesper ordered. 

Brogham licked his lips, then turned to the console, and pressed a reply. “This is Captain Brogham of the _Paoli_. I need no assistance, Captain Christof. We are under a flag of truce to exchange prisoners – “

“SINCE WHEN DO WE TRADE WITH THE REBELLION?” Christof said with a supercilious air. “MY ORDERS FROM GOVERNOR TURNER ARE TO TAKE POSSESSION OF THE PRISONERS, ESPECIALLY THE TRAITOR MADINE. YOU HAVE HIM, I’M TOLD?”

Vesper caught a grimace from Madine, who now sat on the floor by the wall, the tech at hand, worrying over him. The officer was already at the helm, Smythe studying the controls intently. 

“I… I – “ Brogham looked at Vesper helplessly, offering only, “There seems to be a problem, Captain.”

“IS MADINE THERE?” Christof’s interest sounded personally ugly. “DID OR DID YOU NOT CATCH THE TRAITOR?”

Another holo suddenly appeared. Calrissian, listening in on broken code.

“THIS IS GENERAL CALRISSIAN OF THE ALLIANCE AND THE _PAOLI_ IS NOW MY PRISONER.”

“LIKE HELL, THEY ARE,”Christof said to him bluntly, waving his hand into the burred edges of the crowded holos. “YOU CAN’T FIGHT ME IN THAT PUNY SHIP.”

“Put me on, Blaine,” Madine said unexpectedly. With the tech’s help, he stood facing Smythe who had moved to the comm. With a nod from Vesper, Smythe opened the link. 

From Christof’s expression, he saw Madine, and Vesper knew then that he had to win this both for Crix and himself. There was nothing merciful to be read in the captain’s face. If Vesper’s name had come across, if the _Armada_ realized that Vesper was negotiating, Vesper was next to be executed. 

“I HEARD YOU WERE TAKEN ALIVE, MADINE,” the captain of the Armada said. “HAVE YOU HEARD THAT NO ONE HAS TO WAIT FOR THE EMPEROR ANYMORE BEFORE KILLING YOU?” 

“So you agree he’s dead?” Madine asked impudently. “You accept that, Antonni?”

Christof’s face twisted. “DON’T CALL ME THAT, YOU BASTARD CORELLIAN!”

Madine’s reply was sweetly obscene. 

His face going a dark red, Christof cut the connection. 

“Crix, that wasn’t helpful! Now that we’re stuck in the middle.” Vesper snapped. “You’d better be able to fly this thing, Apton!”

“It won’t make a difference in the end,” Madine chuckled. “Either we win here or we die here.”

Calrissian raised his hand. “SEE YOU AFTER THE BATTLE, GENERALS.” His holo vanished.

“Here come the fighters from the _Armada_ ,” Brogham sighed, abandoning hope. 

“Shields up,” Vesper ordered. “Seal the bridge. No one comes on here. Apton, Kelp, either control or disable our guns. I don’t want them shooting at the Alliance vessel. Brogham, open the controls, now.”

The captain obeyed silently, then sat down again in his command chair. His head bowed. He did not watch the _Paoli_ ’s new crew take control of his ship. Vesper felt a touch of sympathy for him but didn’t let it distract him. 

The _Paoli_ moved jerkily towards the _Taotaun_ amid the fighting between TIE and X-wings. 

 

Aboard the _Alderaan_ , Grandia was on his way to Mon Mothma’s office when the message from Calrissian came in. He ran the extra hallway, skidding up to the door and slapping the comm. "Ceeli? Let me in!"

The wall slid open. Montesi stood beside the desk, the tablet in her hand, her expression caught between surprise and anticipation. "Michael?" 

Two steps and he was across the small office, picking her up and swinging her around. "Did you hear?" he shouted, ignoring her alarmed eyes and knowing that his size and strength well-countered her attempt to escape

"Hear what?" she objected stiffly. "Put me down, Michael!"

He laughed and let her slide back onto her feet, but didn't let go. "Calrissian found him!" 

She didn’t believe him. "What! He found Madine?"

"Yes!" Damn, but he felt fine and relieved – practically giddy -- and happy to assure her of news she resisted but clearly wanted to hear. "Apparently some Imperial picked him up. Calrissian's going to bring them, in according to his message.” Her short breaths were warm against his chin. ”The _Taotaun_ has requested help and Ackbar's sent two more ships out."

Ceeli brought a hand to her mouth as if she needed help to keep her composure. Which was not at all necessary after all their hunting and worrying. 

“It’s true!” Grandia nodded and gave her as intent a look as he could manage. “Honest,” he managed to say through a huge smile. 

She hesitated, her eyes warily searching his one quick last. He laughed it off. Then she matched his exuberance with a loud “Hah!” and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. 

"Michael, that's wonderful!"

He agreed and hugged her back, and then he kissed her. 

 

Ceeli felt her hands lift off Michael’s shoulders in surprise. Then she felt relief and warmth in the kiss and a great desire to bury all the troubles that worried them in that satisfying heat. She kissed Michael back, kissed him all the more strongly as she felt him respond to her hand pressing on his neck, her arm sliding under his and around his back to pull him even closer to her.

This felt very good and Michael Grandia was a very good man and if this was only a passing pleasure, if tomorrow they both thought better to be simply friends again, well, this was still a very fine moment indeed.

Finally, they pulled away from each other slightly, both breathing heavily. Michael hesitated, unsure as men so often were no matter all their illusions of control. "Ceeli…" he began carefully.

She brought her hand around to his face and slid it along his cheek to rest against his lips. They regarded each other long enough for Ceeli to reach a decision. "When do you get off duty, Michael?” she asked as she traced the line of his jaw. “Tell me!" she insisted of him, mocking her well-deserved demanding reputation. "When do you get off duty?"

His eyes widened for the moment it took for him to absorb her intent, to measure it beside his own and to make his own decision. "I... An hour. Maybe. Depends on Calrissian."

Yes, it did depend on so many other things. But they were both well practiced – were damn experts – in controlling the people around them and in manipulating schedules to specific interests. "Come back when you know," she suggested, smiling. Laying a finger on his lower lip for a second, she rubbed it gently, then stepped back out of his close embrace. 

The office was quite small, but distance could be found in it if a person were practiced at maintaining a dignified position.

"I'll send a message to the Senator that we've retrieved General Madine." Ceeli confirmed as she turned back to the desk and tapped the glassy black top to call up a COMPOSE command.

"I'll keep you informed,” replied Grandia as he turned to leave.

He was a big man though and all it took was coming about to be right at the door. Which reminded Ceeli that although she was fairly universal with her taste in males, she had always had a tender spot for strongly built men. 

When the wall opened, he paused. 

“I'll be back." Michael assured her.

“I’ll be here,” Ceeli assured him.

 

Aboard the _Taotaun_ , Calrissian didn’t know exactly what was going on but he did know that the _Armada_ outweighed his own by double. His communication officer told him that the message to the _Alderaan_ about Madine -- and his request for help -- had gone through before the Imperials started jamming their communications. All he could do now was prepare for a battle and try to survive.

And bring the _Paoli_ home. Well, actually, just Madine. He’d settle for that. He didn’t want to face the Alliance High Command and say, “Well, I did my best.”

_Any hope of getting back to Bespin anytime soon, son, is getting thinner and thinner._

This was all Imperial politics, he grumbled, watching the fights going on screen. Madine had stirred up the space monkeys and they were all running amok. “Give them some cover,” he ordered seeing the _Paoli_ starting to move his way. “Huh. Can’t that pilot fly anything? It’s going to hit something if he’s not careful.”

His own pilot agreed with a nod; the Calamari gunnery officer offered a more pungent comment when the _Paoli_ barely avoided being hit by one of the _Taotaun_ ’s shots. 

Bolts crashed on their own screens as the _Armada_ closed in, and Calrissian braced himself. He had seen the holo of Stalinz exploding on the _Crystaline_ when the hull was breeched and was not interested in going the same way. 

_Not this time, Lady Luck, not this time._

The _Paoli_ made a sudden swerve into the debris field, and a bolt targeting its engines from the _Armada_ , missed wiping out several TIEs. Calrissian doubted that Christof cared. From watching the communications between the man and Madine, Christof was a chip off the Vader block. One more war criminal to handle.

_How did Madine know that curse? I don’t think I’ve heard it anywhere else but at Jabba’s._

“Sir, the _Armada_ is fielding its TIEs,” the comm. officer announced. “They’re heading for us, General.”

“Great,” Calrissian said with a grimace. “Shoot them down. We want those prisoners.”

The Calamari spoke to his crew and the ship’s own banks fired, wiping out several of the enemy, but the TIEs whizzed passed them, then fanned out. “They’re leaving room for more,” Calrissian warned. “Everyone brace!”

Shots pounded against the _Taotaun_ ’s shields, weakening them. The X-wings were fighting hard but the number of TIEs were overwhelming.“ 

_The Armada’s got the power to outlast us. Time to cut and run and come back with more troops, or…fight it out._ Lando was a survivor and this was suicide. He had to leave. Why didn’t he give the command?

The _Paoli_ flashed into sight again, this time pursued by several TIEs, some of them transmitting its own call signal, others the _Armada_ s. They wanted to take the ship alive. 

_I am not facing Ackbar or Mon Mothma and telling them that I left Madine in the hands of his enemies. That’s why._

“Open a comm. link to the _Paoli_ ,” Calrissian ordered. “Hurry.” 

“We can’t, sir,” the Calamari informed him. “Totally jammed.”

“They are almost within tractor range,” the pilot commented. “The _Armada_ can drag them in.” 

 

Vesper saw the danger they were now in. His wrist com flashed and he hit it. “Report.” 

“That rebel tech and I are in the auxiliary command, sir,” Rhotan reported. “We now have full control of this ship.”

“Can he help us get any speed up?” Vesper said.

“Right now, we’re locking the blast doors, sir, so we don’t have to worry about the crew. He’s quite good with our systems.”

Madine snickered. “Nethercutt’s very good with Imperial systems. Even better when he has his ‘droid -- ”

“We’ve got seconds before their tractors hit us, Generals,” Smythe called. 

“Vesper,” Madine said softly. “You know what to do if we’re caught.”

“Oh, shut up,” Vesper snarled at him. “I didn’t commit treason to end up executing you, Crix.”

“Be better than letting Christof get his hands on either of us,” Madine retorted. “Or any of our prisoners.”

“Alliance ships!” Smythe howled in joy. Vesper, everyone jumped. “Reinforcements!”

 

Calrissian whooped like a smuggler, dignity be damned. Two Alliance battleships, the Salt and the Flurr, dropping from hyperspace just outside the debris field, was a heart-stopping blessing. They saw the fight, deployed their fighters before the _Taotaun_ could ask and although the TIEs turned on the new fighters, the TIEs were now outnumbered. 

The _Armada_ wasn’t giving up without the prize, though. Its tractors reached out for the _Paoli_. 

“Give them cover,” Calrissian ordered. The Taotaun’s ion cannons boomed and the _Armada_ ’s shields shook and sparkled. 

A set of X-Wings peeled off for an attack on the _Paoli_. 

“Stop them!” Calrissian roared. The comm. officer chattered urgently, but it was too late. 

 

The _Paoli_ rocked, hit by X-wing hits blasting through weakened shields to metal, kicking shards far out into space. 

The cursing was original, Shura had to admit. The Imperials had a whole language she hadn’t heard on the Alliance side. She braced Madine when the ship’s jolting threatened to send him rolling, and was startled to see an uninhibited grin on his face. He’d been a bit light-headed, no surprise from the pain drugs, but the rigid self-control the general was known for was nowhere to be seen or heard. 

“Smythe, get a line to that idiot, Calrissian!” Vesper snapped. “We’re trying to be on his side!”

Rhotan worked the controls hard and the _Paoli_ moved toward the _Taotaun _. Over the tops of consoles, Shura saw outlines of the other Alliance cruisers lit brightly on the sensor screen, and felt a huge surge of happiness. There would be rescue after all.__

__Then she saw the Imperial lieutenant grab for the blaster that hung at the side of one of the Stormtroopers, sending the trooper sprawling._ _

__It was a clumsy move, an awkward jump up from the floor, but the man was in reach. Shura started to cry out but pulled back in surprise and amazement. The Imperial captain, the older man so sadly slumped in his chair, leapt to intercept his junior officer. Both men crashed into the control console where Apton and Smythe worked. All four rolled as the ship rocked out of control._ _

__Vesper cursed out loud. Slapping on the comlink, he called “Rhotan! Take over the controls, and get us to the _Taotaun_!”_ _

__“Yes, sir,” Rhotan replied, his voice barely heard amid sudden static. “They hit one TIE bay. We’re losing air on that level!“_ _

__Shura wasn’t sure Elihaim had had a plan when he jumped for the blaster, but the others were getting in each others way in a fight that left him free to twist about and point the stolen blaster at Madine._ _

__In the fraction of the second that it was aimed, Shura threw herself over the general and felt him try to push her to safety._ _

__“Crix!” The Imperial general’s voice, panicked._ _

__“Move!” Her general gasped._ _

__Shura’s world went to black._ _

__

__There would be another feast. Leia knew that Chief Chirpa had insisted on honoring Mon Mothma for her victory over the renegade Imperial invaders and was going to throw another party, this time over their capture of _Armada_ prisoners. Oh, but Leia was glad that it this was probably going to be the last celebration. It was time to leave Endor and this eerie suspension of time -- and decision -- after the final victory. _ _

__All the years of subterfuge and spying, of running and hiding and running and fighting had died with Vader and the Emperor. The future -- whatever that it was to be -- had begun here among the Ewoks, but it would not continue in this deep forest. Not for her._ _

__From the gathering room level, Leia had watched the Falcon return from the attack in the next valley and land; had seen the still-groggy Klimet walk onto the lowered ramp with a wounded Mon Mothma who sagged against Chewbacca when her leg gave way. The Wookiee swept the rebel leader up and carried her down among the rest of the returning troops. Leia watched and listened to the cheers and understood that her world was becoming more complicated again._ _

__Every soldier who'd survived the attack would approve of Mon Mothma's actions and their stories about a political Commander who came out into the field when she might have left for Coruscant to claim her Alliance’s glory were going to be woven into the legends of the New Republic. The stories of the Rebellion’s struggle were now background for whatever came next._ _

__Well. Another victory feast. Perhaps she could steal an hour or two of solitude before the speeches started again. Leia let a deep breath out slowly. She supposed she shouldn’t complain, considering what might have happened._ _

__On her way across the wooden walkway that led to the stairs into the residential village levels, she paused._ _

__What if the Alliance leader had died in her adventure in the woods?_ _

__Leia only now realized at how unnerving it had been to watch Mon Mothma fall against Chewbacca. At the time, she had simply stood there at the railing until Klimet and Dubow retreated to file their reports to the _ALDERAAN_ ; glad just not to think of what Ceeli Montesi was going to think when she heard of Mothma's injuries._ _

__Senator Leia Organa stood still a moment, considered how the woman’s death would have changed the face of the New Republic._ _

__No feasting for anyone then. And no chance of sneaking off for a little shut-eye._ _

__Leia was the most visible face of the Rebellion. She knew that. The rebels had used Princess Leia Organa for propaganda before she'd even given permission. Anyone who followed the Rebellion knew her name, and, after Yavin, that of Han Solo. Even with the Commander alive and willing, Leia understood without having to think about it, that she was someone the Alliance could spin into the HoloNews with minimal introduction. After all, Mothma’s name wasn’t exactly common currency._ _

___And I'm the only surviving Organa. That’s going to mean so much more now._ Leia’s breath caught, despite her training. _– and I'm not even that._ Political consequences wavered before the more personal implications of that box she had watched the troops carry off the Falcon. She shuddered. _Not even Alderaani, not by blood.__ _

__That damn box – Han had told Leia what was inside, but she hadn't been interested in looking. The contents were history as well. She didn't need to see Mon Mothma’s prize; she had her nightmares about Darth Vader interrogations so many years ago to keep her attention. And Han to burn the memories to dust with his loving and wicked indifference._ _

___I have to talk to her._ _ _

__Leia crossed a walkway and found the stairs up to where Chewie had carried Mon Mothma at the instruction of the Ewok healers. She stopped by a hut where sweet herbs smoldered in a deep bowl by the doorway. Tapping at the entry chimes, Leia identified herself. Hearing no objections, she parted the beaded strands of reeds and went inside._ _

__Mon Mothma half-sat up on the bed, looking at a handcom. Military, Leia guessed from dull casing; Dubow must have left it. The soft reed blanket that covered her legs was heavily patterned in strong chieftain colors. Threepio had told Leia that there had been considerable discussion among the Ewoks over the state of Mon Mothma's wardrobe from the moment the Commander landed, and that Chief Chirpa's daughter Kneesaa had been hard at work on remedying the misfortune even before today’s appalling misuse of even such dull Alliance travel wear. Leia expected the dress would most likely be like Leia’s own, but if that blanket were any clue, she suspected that Kneesaa had grander ambitions._ _

__If only the Ewok dyes included pastel colors. Leia frowned at the irrelevant thought. Where had that come from? Well, maybe Han could be persuaded to capture a holo of the Commander in rainbow array. That would startle more than a few on the command levels who thought that the Commander’s wardrobe spanned the spectrum from white to a little less white._ _

__"Leia?" Mon Mothma asked, “What is it?” The com was quiet in her lap and her attention was steady on her visitor._ _

__What indeed. Leia took a breath and simply, soberly, asked, "I was wondering what would happen to the Rebellion if you'd died in the that meadow?"_ _

__Mon Mothma sat back against a cushion. "I can't live my life surrounded by pillows," she said, her tone strikingly defensive. "The _Armada_ wasn't even known to be in the area."_ _

__The older woman had mistaken her intent. "No, no, I'm not saying it was too risky.” Leia rolled her eyes; she was the last person to suggest that. “I'm just trying to see a galaxy where you weren't -- aren’t -- in it and what would be the consequences."_ _

__The Commander studied her. "There are others to take my place. Like you."_ _

__"Yes. Like me."_ _

__"The last of the Organas - "_ _

__"I was adopted – " Oh, she said that too quickly and Mon Mothma just as quickly reassured her._ _

__"Bail adopted you and brought you up as his daughter. Do you doubt that he insisted upon your recognition as princess?”_ _

__“No! But, nobody cared – then. What about now?” She wasn’t fishing; this could be a problem even if her father’s name wasn’t -- “Some of the Exiles…”_ _

__“Ignore them. There are always ‘some people.’ Bail knew who your parents were and never found it necessary to tell any of us. He chose you, Leia," Mothma said quietly, "and you've never disappointed him – or anyone. Occasionally taken us – me – by surprise, but never disappointed."_ _

__"I….” But if the woman almost smiled, it was at herself, Leia noted. _Not at me. Why do I always worry so with her?_ “You say there are others. To take your place." _ _

___Like I took Father’s place as Senator._ _ _

__"What would you have done if I died?' Mon Mothma asked._ _

__Leia looked down at her hands – _But she’s not Father_ \- then up. "I would have tried to take your place on the council and carried our plans forward.” Leia clasped her hands together. ”But I will not give up Han. I love him, and I – "_ _

__“And, if you can find General Solo something to do that won't compromise you, then why not follow that plan?"_ _

__“I –“_ _

__Mon Mothma rolled the com around on the blanket. "Leia, even if I’m still alive, someday I won't be needed. The leadership will move to a new generation – you.” She sounded so final in that judgment. She added then, as if she needed to remind herself to be politic, “And the others."_ _

__“Yes, there are others!” Leia caught her temper. Her shoulders dropped. She turned to the doorway, as if she would leave. Not that she could. Would. "Mon Mothma, I can't do your job.” She turned back and spoke to the older woman more honestly than she could remember. “I couldn't leave Han, ever. You have no idea what he -- How do you stand being separated from Madine?"_ _

__Mon Mothma's encouraging smile wavered, then firmed. "I trust you, Leia.” And, after a heartbeat, she sat forward, her eyes brighter than Leia had seen in a long time. “If you say he's alive, he is. And if he's alive,” her gaze turned inward, “if so, he'll come back."_ _

__"He is," Leia said in utter conviction, grabbing at the change of focus. She knew Mothma had done it on purpose but it suited both their needs. "I don't know how -- I don't even know why I'm so certain, as if he were someone I knew. It’s not like with Luke. I mean, I never even met General Madine before he arrived to the Rebellion!"_ _

__“Really?” Mothma laughed, stretching her legs under the blanket so she could sit straighter. "You don’t remember him?” She cocked her head, happy to talk about the general, her face as bright as a girl’s before a party. “You met him at the Summer Palace."_ _

__Leia stared at her, puzzled. " 'The Summer Palace?' Our palace? On Alderaan?"_ _

__"Yes! The summer that -- " Mon Mothma’s voice caught, grew serious. “-- when Breha died." Now she gazed out through the beaded entry, still seeing that lost world but more thoughtful, deeper in memory. "Bail invited Crix with the intent of sounding out whether he'd leave the Empire. I think that Crix was flirting with it, but -- that all stopped. He would never have come anyway, not at that time."_ _

__Leia shut her eyes and felt a shadow fade within her, like a shade pulled away slowly from a window. "We never went back there after Mother died."_ _

__"She had so wanted to come down that night. It didn't happen," Mon Mothma said softly. "You were ten."_ _

__"The worst summer of my life," Leia revealed. The tension had shifted, and now she wanted to sit down. She saw a cushion at the far end of the bed. Crossing over to it, she sat, facing the same window, seeing through that window to her past where the skies were as soft as the misty Endor afternoon outside the hut._ _

__"But I didn't know that General Madine was there,” she insisted. “I don't remember him. You had a lover for the weekend, I remember that --- " Leia broke off. Images flitted through her thoughts, lights and music and people, all the adults laughing and disappearing with each other into a luxurious night. "That was him?"_ _

__Mon Mothma laughed. "We didn't get that far. There were always interruptions. But that night, I'd planned – and I'm sure he planned – "_ _

__"He kissed you," Leia said, her attention on drapery, warm and smooth stone under her hands as she watched -- "I saw it from the upper balcony. Then Falena came out – no, Dodonna came out and said… "_ _

__"He interrupted us," Mon Mothma said prosaically. "That was a magic night, Leia -- until your mother's death. And after that, well, no.” She reached for the cup of water on a shelf beside the bed. “But, that doesn't explain how you know that Crix is alive."_ _

__Leia shook her head. "I don't know myself. I guess I…” her voice faded with the forgotten party. “Luke says that I’m -- sensitive, maybe from my parents? And just never understood why I was so good with people ––“ She shook off the dangerous musing. “It’s just --but why him?"_ _

__"Well, it _was_ a romantic night,” said Mon Mothma, amused. “And, if I recall correctly, you popped up _ everywhere_. Maybe you were sensitized to us both. I think Luke may have a point; you always have drawn people to you, their concern for what you need, their loyalty. I wish I could tell you who your parents were – Bail never told me." 

_She doesn't know._ Leia felt a huge surge of relief. Her connection with Darth Vader was hidden and Darth Vader was dead, was a helmet in a box. 

The realization relaxed her. Was that the true cause of the hesitations, the need to know that nothing would keep her from Han’s satisfying embrace? Leia stood, set her shoulders back and knew that her smile was one of her better _let’s-get-moving_ expressions. She said, firmly, "So, what do we do now?"

Mon Mothma blinked away her own distant thoughts. "About what?"

"The Alliance."

The Commander switched to business. "Now comes the dangerous time." She tapped on her com. "I've been reading the messages from Dubow. The Galaxy is starting to explode. We need to calm down the planets before revenge gets out of hand.” She frowned with impatience. “If Crix were here, he would know the Imperial mindset better than us all."

"At least we know he's alive," Leia repeated confidently. "And I’m sure he’ll be here soon enough than that."

Mon Mothma raised a diplomatic eyebrow at that enthusiastic claim, then sighed. "Well, we get back tomorrow and Ceeli can fill me in. You’ve got have decisions to make, Leia, you and Han. Don’t look so worried. You simply have to decide how fast you're going to legalize your marriage. He may not care one way or the other, but --"

"But, I don't want the formal wedding ceremony."

"That's why we move fast when we get back. Otherwise the Exiles will come between the two of you, no matter that you've done enough for this man which should – " a commotion outside the door and wild ringing of the chimes cut off Mon Mothma's advice. Before she could say anything more, the braided reeds flew apart. Chief Chirpa, Kneesaa and a retinue of others, including an apologizing Threepio, came crowding in. 

They came bearing a dress and many hands spread it out in mid-air for Mothma’s review. 

It was green, dark green and patterned, skirt, bodice and sleeves, with woven appliques. Well, at least they got the primary color right, Leia thought, suddenly remembering the dress on the Palace balcony long ago, Wasn't it spring green? Yes, and embroidered, filmy and for Chandrila’s tastes, low-cut. 

_They had had plans that evening._ Leia watched as Kneesaa started a speech that C-3PO began translating in elaborate flourishes. And there would be another feast today, with Han back from the fight and plans of their own for the rest of the night.

For the rest of their lives, anywhere, everywhere, even on the _Falcon_.

 

Madine was blindly angry at the entire situation, so much so that the pain in his shoulder and chest was driven from his mind. He had felt the power of the blaster shot in its impact on Shura, whose body slammed against him, who had sheltered him, and why hadn’t Vesper taken care of the lieutenant like he had the other officers?! Why were they in this ridiculous situation?!

He could see the rolling fight, the casualty that had saved Madine from being knocked unconscious. Not just Shura, but Brogham had been in the line of fire as Elihaim fired. Thrown back against Shura, who flattened Madine, the captain now lay motionless on the deck at the tech’s side. 

Madine pushed Shura off his legs. “Vesper, throw me a gun!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Vesper snapped. “You’d shoot the wrong man. I know how modon affects you!”

A sudden snapping sound rendered the request moot. The lieutenant went limp and lifeless at the foot of the Captain’s Chair.

Apton looked up, his face calm. “I’m sorry, sir, I couldn’t prevent it.”

“Captain Brogham will be unhappy, but I’m not.” Vesper dismissed Elihaim. “How are you?”

“Fine, sir,” Apton replied, standing.   
Madine growled as he levered himself off from the wall, rising wobbly to his feet. “Smythe, get back to those controls and get us to Calrissian!”

“Yes, sir,” the pilot obeyed as he pulled himself back up to the helm.

“Rhotan’s got it under control,” Vesper contradicted Madine. “Be careful of what you touch! Take the comm station instead. ” 

Smythe nodded and moved to another chair.

Apton brushed himself off, then took Eliliam’s feet and dragged the body to one side. 

Madine looked down at the other two, Shura and the captain. If he tried to check on them, he’d topple over. Didn’t have to anyway to see that the tech was much paler than normal. He felt another surge of anger. She’d helped him from the start of this and now she needed his help – and he couldn’t give it. He saw Kelp moving towards them and knew the medic could do far more than he could. 

“The _Armada_ is within tractor range of us,” Rhotan’s calm voice said, startling everyone. “Brace yourselves.”

“Rhotan!” Madine ordered as loudly as he could, “Send us further into the field behind that chunk of debris. We’re going to attack the _Armada_.”

“Crix, you’re nuts,” Vesper snapped, stepping toward Madine. “Have you got a plan?”

Madine grinned. “Nethercutt, have you got access to ship’s systems?”

“Uh, yes, sir,… but Captain Rhotan – “

“I want you to…” 

Rhotan’s movement sent the ship behind what was a pitifully small piece of debris, causing everyone on the bridge to grab some for something to hold. Madine hit a chair and gasped in pain. 

“Nethercutt! Can you -- confuse the TIEs -- like you did at Atlan? Do it! Fast!”

“Yes, sir!” Nethercutt’s voice was full of fear and hesitancy but a steady stream of commands, some gibberish, went out over the Imperial com. 

“You were the one at Atlan!” Vesper exploded. “I thought so. I told them that it was your style!”

Madine pulled himself off the chair and around it. “Excellent supplies, Blaine,” he smirked as he sat, carefully. “We needed them badly.”

“They may have figured out what I did back then, sir,” Nethercutt cut in apologetically. “This won’t buy us much time -- tractor beam!” 

The ship jolted, stopped hard. The engines whined then stopped. Madine almost laughed.

“Shutting down the engines, sir,” Rhotan said. “We don't want to burn out.” 

“Damn,” Vesper said, barely audible in the suddenly quiet cabin. “The _Armada_.”

There was a flash and then several more. The tractor let go and the _Paoli_ rocked again. The _Armada_ was hit -- by the blasts from the Taotaun, from the _Salt_ , from the _Flurr_. The _Armada_ pulled back. 

Or maybe the _Paoli_ was moving forward. Madine didn’t care as long as the distance between the _Armada_ and his ship was getting further apart. 

Calrissian’s ship symbol came up. Smythe hit the communications switch.

“GLAD YOU’RE ALIVE,” Calrissian said soberly when the holo filled out.. “WHAT’S YOUR SITUATION?”

“Lando!” Madine was fairly sure that he smiled. It hurt enough to be a smile.

“The _Armada_ is calling,” Smythe said over the greeting, “General…” His gaze went from one to the other “Generals?”

Vesper and Madine exchanged glances. “Christof surrendering?” Madine mocked the notion. 

Vesper glared at him. “Not likely. Let me handle him. Bring him up, pilot.”

Christof, seething from the flush across his face, looked from one holo to the other. “I EXPECT YOU TO SURRENDER, MADINE.”

“To you?” Madine said, doing his best to laugh at the pompous man. “We know too much about each other for that, Antonni.”

“AND DOES YOUR ALLIANCE KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU, MADINE?” Christof sneered. “ARE YOU SO SURE THAT THEY’VE REALLY ACCEPTED YOU?”

Madine raised an eyebrow at the interest light in Calrissian’s eyes while Vesper gritted his teeth. “Oh, they know it all. I confessed.”

“I DOUBT IT,” Christof replied with equal disdain. 

“Why don’t you surrender, Christof? We can sit together in front of the Tribunals of Justice and see what sentence they’ll hand down on us.” 

“Crix, quiet!” Vesper said angrily. 

“Generals, we have an incoming call from the regional military governor,” Smythe said, scanning the controls. “Imperial Governor Turner.”

The holo came up amid the others and Madine chuckled. He saw Vesper shake his head, but Madine was feeling too good – too painless – to worry about what Vesper thought. In fact, Madine stood up. Carefully. “Governor Turner! Welcome to the Alliance ship _Paoli_.”

The governor was taken aback obviously not expecting to talk with an openly jubilant Madine himself. “VESPER? WHAT’S GOING ON?” 

Vesper took a deep breath. “The Alliance is here in force, Governor. Three ships.”

“WHAT ABOUT THE _Armada_?”Turner said sharply. “CHRISTOF?”

“I’M HERE, SIR,” Christof said bluntly. “MY TIES ARE STILL FIGHTING. I’LL DESTROY THE _PAOLI_ BEFORE I LET IT GO TO THE ALLIANCE.”

Madine knew that Anton sincerely meant that. However, he was out gunned. The _Paoli_ was getting farther and farther away. He couldn’t resist. “Antonni, your TIEs are being wiped out. Can’t you see that?”

“GOVERNOR TURNER?” Calrissian cut in. “I AM GENERAL CALRISSIAN OF THE ALLIANCE. WE HAVE BEEN TRYING TO OPEN COMMUNICATIONS TO YOU.”

“We’re getting away, Anton,” Madine taunted. “Aren’t you coming after us?”

“Madine, shut up!” Vesper yelled. Without any warning, he turned, and hit Madine hard in the jaw.

 

Madine crumpled back into the chair, then slid onto the deck, unconscious, and Vesper felt a surge of satisfaction. He’d wanted to do that since he heard Madine had turned traitor without leaving any explanation for him. Hearing the reason, understanding the logic hadn’t assuaged the frustration. But this had. 

Vesper turned his attention to the future. 

He saw Kelp look over at Madine, shake his head in disgust, then go back to Brogham. The medic would reach Madine in due time; Vesper prepared for some complaining from the dour officer. 

He saw Turner and Christof ‘s approving expressions. Calrissian’s face was a mask that Vesper couldn’t read. 

“WELL DONE, GENERAL VESPER,” Governor Turnersaid with a touch of pleasure in his voice. “WHAT HE DESERVES.”

“THAT’LL SEEM LIKE A LOVE TAP WHEN I GET HIM,” Christof said with more than a touch of vindictiveness. 

Vesper took a deep breath and turned to Calrissian. “General, I believe you will soon be in command of this ship. I suggest you have a medical team ready for General Madine and any others.”

“YOU **TRAITOROUS** BASTARD, VESPER! **TWO OF A KIND**!” Christof snapped. “ **YOU ARE NOT SURRENDERING THAT SHIP**!”

Calrissian ordered, “ _SALT, FLURR,_ CONCENTRATE YOUR ATTENTION ON THE _ARMADA_. _PAOLI_ , WE’LL BE BOARDING YOU SHORTLY.” His holo vanished. 

Christof ‘s holo vanished as well. 

Apton looked back at the controls. “They’re hitting him hard, sir.”

“Good,” Vesper replied. “We need to get out of here. What about the TIEs?” 

“The Alliance is defeating them,” Smythe called with a touch of pride. “Your ships are outnumbered now.” 

“The Armada is retreating!” Apton interrupted, his voice rising in disbelief. “It’s dumping in prep for the jump to hyperspace!” 

Vesper snapped, “What about his TIEs?” 

“He’s left them behind!” Apton said. “He’s going without them, sir.”

“GENERAL VESPER!” Vesper had forgotten about Turner. The governor stared at him with a tight expression. “DO I UNDERSTAND YOU’VE SURRENDERED?”

“As I said earlier, killing a general in the Alliance is not a good idea at this moment,” Vesper replied. Turner hesitated, his uncertainty clear. “Governor, the _Armada_ has abandoned her pilots and fled. The _Paoli_ is in the hands of the Alliance. Captain Brogham,” he looked over at the man uncertain if Brogham was dead or alive, “is no longer in command.”

Turner’s hands were shaking. “THE _ARMADA_ IS GONE? BUT CHRISTOF…HE LEFT HIS SHIPS?”

“He had time to regain his TIEs. He did not. They are being destroyed by the Alliance,” Vesper said with regret as they all watched the Imperial ships being blown away. “Tell me, how are the planets in your sector reacting to the new of the Emperor’s death? What are your orders from Coruscant, Governor?”

Turner looked around himself in a daze, as if searching a desk and finding nothing. “CORUSCANT HAS GIVEN NO SPECIFIC ORDERS, GENERAL.”

“SENATOR MON MOTHMA IS REACHING OUT TO THE MILITARY, GOVERNOR,” Calrissian said his holo suddenly appearing, “SHE HAS NO INTEREST IN A DESTRUCTIVE PROLONGED BATTLE.”

Turner’s face cleared, then clouded. “THE SENATOR IS A TRAITOR.”

“The Empire no longer exists,” Vesper said. “The Senator leads the Alliance.”  
“IS SHE STILL CONSORTING WITH MADINE?” Turner’s disdain – or his memory of the Emperor’s slanderous holotape -- seemed to revive him. “CONSIDERING HER LOW STANDARDS, I’M NOT SURE I WANT TO DEAL WITH HER.”

Before Calrissian could retort, Vesper stepped in. 

“I think we must reconsider everything that the Emperor said about Senator Mon Mothma and General Madine - especially anything negative. Governor, what are your choices?”

A slow minute passed. Reluctantly, Turner said. “I WILL TALK WITH THE REBELLION IF POSSIBLE. YOU SAY YOU HAVE A WAY OF REACHING THEM?”

Vesper looked out the front window at the three large Alliance Cruisers and the myriad of X-wings wiping up the remnants of the Armada and _Paoli_ ’s TIEs, then at Smythe whose eyes widened. “That won’t be a problem.”

 

Leia heard the pounding feet long before Han came crashing through the reed hangings of the room and came to an abrupt stop facing the crowd of Ewoks. The more militant were pointing spears at him.

Han looked over their heads at Mon Mothma. “He’s alive. We’ve got him. Lando’s got him back.”

Leia let out a whoop. Joy lit Mon Mothma’s face. She closed her eyes for a brief second. When she opened them, brighter than she could ever allow on the _Alderaan,_ her smile was like none Leia had ever seen on her face. 

_Except maybe that night on Alderaan._

Han grabbed her and Leia laughed as he swung her around, scattering Ewoks. When she looked back, Mothma was searching for the latest messages on the com. 

“What is it? What happened?” Leia asked breathlessly. “What does he say?”

Mothma began to read, “General Madine recovered from Imperial ship _Paoli_ under the command of… General Vesper!” She looked up, her expression changing to wary. “Vesper.”

"Vesper?" Han asked sharply. 

"I know Blaine Vesper," Mothma said soberly. "He arrested me once - which saved my life. Damn! What’s really going on? Where’s Ceeli’s report?"

"Ah,” Han seemed a bit at a loss; Leia had seen him like that before, usually around Mon Mothma. Perhaps she intimidated him, too. “Lando sent me a personal message for you that Vesper says the military governors want to deal with you, not Ackbar,” Han added quickly when he caught Leia staring at him.

"Human to human," the Commander murmured. "Well, we can't let them get away with that."

"If we leave now – " Leia suggested, then stopped. 

"And miss the feast?" Mon Mothma reproved her. "Chief Chirpa's gone to a lot of work. We can leave after it. Besides," rearranging the pillows so she could lay back more comfortably, she smiled again, "it'll take Calrissian some time to get Crix back to the Fleet." 

Kneesaa said something smug to Chief Chirpa, gave him a poke, and then flung her hands in the air. The retinue swept out with determined expressions taking the dress with them. 

"What was that about?" Leia catching C-3PO's arm as Chirpa followed. "What'd she say?"

"I'm sure she's wrong, Princess," C-3PO said apologetically. He turned to Mon Mothma who had tucked her blanket more securely around her legs. "She said 'Mate found.' I don't understand what they mean."

Mon Mothma's cheeks went pinker. "Luckily they don't know the meaning of dark green on Chandrila,” she said with a small laugh. “I haven't worn that color since my wedding night."

Leia sniffed in understanding. "I'll see if I can find something else for you – "

"Oh, no. I'd rather not insult them," Mothma protested. “That dress will do well enough.” 

Leia let that comment lie unremarked upon. She tucked her hand under Han's arm and turned him around. "Let's go, Captain. Time to start breaking down this camp." 

 

The _Millennium Falcon_ came out of hyperspace near the _Alderaan_ and the com went off instantly. Han pulled the information he needed, then went back into the main cabin. 

He still wasn't used to seeing Mon Mothma in a well-fitted dark green dress. It complimented her figure in a way that Solo hadn't ever imagined. He looked forward to seeing the High Command's faces when she swept in wearing that color. Right now, she sat with Leia, discussing some theoretical political situation. He nodded in satisfaction to see how much more relaxed Leia was now with the older woman. Somewhere they’d made peace with each other. One problem put down and away.

Chewbacca, Klimet, and Dubow were studying schematics of the Falcon, assessing Han's modifications in low voices. Han hoped that the Wookiee pulled the right set; no need giving anyone the notion that anyone’s past bore better examination. The rest of the soldiers had gone out from Endor on the Naboo or the _Alderaan_ shuttle. Luke took off in the Imperial shuttle, promising to keep in touch but not saying where he was going. He really had to talk to the kid about that sort of thing. When the Falcon left planet, no more members of the Alliance remained on Endor, although Mon Mothma had promised an embassy sooner or later.

Han suspected later; Endor was far off the beaten path of the galaxy, and of no strategic importance. He also thought the Ewoks preferred it that way. 

“People, “ he announced to the group, "We are ready to leave for the med ship."

Mon Mothma looked up. "Why? Not for me -- "

"Klimet?" Han improvised shamelessly. 

Everyone looked at the man who looked as healthy as the Wookiee standing beside him. Klimet frowned. 

"It would be better to go to the _Alderaan_ \-- " Leia started.

"Med ship," Han cut her off. 

"Why?" Mothma repeated. 

"Because –“ Han threw up his hands, then pointed at her. “Because that's where General Madine is and that's where you're going," he confessed brusquely. "It's time to finish this crap." 

He returned the face Leia gave him. She could figure out his mind on this; she was good at that sort of thing. 

Mothma had sat back stiffly "General, it's none of your business -- "

"Like hell it isn't," Han interrupted. "I think you should tell him."

"This is ridiculous," Mothma protested. "I wish that you -- " she stopped. She glanced at Klimet and Dubow, who were trying to ignore what was going on. "Han, I don't want... "

"I don't care what you want," Han said rudely. "It's time that it was resolved. He knows what he wants, you know what you want, and we're going to the med ship." 

Mothma turned to Leia, "Are all Corellian men like this?"

"You've been dealing with them longer than I have," Leia replied. "You tell me."

Han's ears burned. "You've got ten minutes. Chewie!" He turned on his heel and retreated to the cockpit where Chewbacca joined him seconds later with a wide-eyed Wookiee speculative expression. He rumbled a question.

Han scowled. "Yes, I know what I'm doing." 

 

When the _Falcon_ docked, everyone was waiting for him at the exit lock. Mon Mothma raised her chin but said nothing as he took up station at her elbow. 

"I'm not going to run away," she murmured, her jaw taut.

"Just making sure you don't collapse again, Senator," he said sweetly. Klimet stepped closer and got a glare, but the man startled Han by grinning back for a fraction of a second, then falling back. Good. Solo palmed the control. "Commander, shall we go?"

They were greeted by the chief med-droid, which got out of their way as Han escorted her down the ramp, and by Alliance security. "General Madine?" she asked of the officer a second before Han opened his mouth.

"This way, ma'am," the major who greeted her replied. "We're happy to see you safe, Commander." 

"I'm happy to be back with the Fleet." That sounded genuine to Han. So was he.

They walked down corridors until the escort stopped outside a wide open door from where they could see a sick bed set in the middle of a large room. Beside it was a man in an Imperial uniform, flanked by two armed guards, and on the other side, a grinning Lando Calrissian. 

On the bed, wrapped in a sick robe, covered by a light blanket from waist down and looking drawn was Crix Madine. His gaze took in the crowd at the door, then focused on only one face.

Han put his hand out to push Mon Mothma's elbow but found only empty space. She'd walked in. 

The others watched politely until the Imperial general roared, "Out! Let's go!" The two guards matched his steps perfectly as they retreated, Lando following, nodding to Mon Mothma as they passed each other.

Han doubted she'd even seen them. 

As soon as they cleared the door, Leia hit a button and it shut. 

They all looked at each other as if wondering what to do now. The Imperial officer shrugged, and said wryly, “I always said she was his distraction. Now I see it was mutual.”

“This was the first we knew about it,” Lando confided. “Han, meet General Blaine Vesper who’s an old friend of General Madine’s. Vesper, this is General Han Solo, hero of the first Death Star and an expert at dismantling anyone’s best laid plans.”

Han was more than slightly taken aback by Calrissian’s casual attitude. He didn’t need the smart-aleck introduction and this was not the usual way they treated Imperial prisoners, especially those of this rank. “General,” he nodded.

Vesper was at ease, pleasant. “I wanted to make sure that your medical system didn’t give him any more modon,” he explained. “Crix is very sensitive to it and he reacts badly.”

“That was obvious from what happened on the bridge,” Calrissian replied. “Not the man we always knew. He can be down-right rigid.” 

“The drug breaks down those inhibitions,” Vesper agreed. “Pity it was all I had on hand on the _Paoli_.”

The mutual affection was interrupted by a flood of beings, led by Admiral Ackbar trailing various officers who appeared from around a corner down the corridor. Han recognized Colonel Grandia, Madine’s second-in-command and Mon Mothma’s personal aide, Montesi. 

_Ah, now we’re back to normal._

“Where’s the Senator?” the Mon Calamari boomed. 

“Busy with General Madine,” Han replied succinctly, stepping in front of the door. “She’ll be out in a minute.” He saw Montesi assessing him, then she bit her lip and smiled. 

“Admiral,” Lando said, ever the gracious host, “May I introduce General Vesper?”

“I’ve read your report,” Ackbar said looking at Calrissian, Mon Calimari blunt over-riding human geniality. “General Vesper, welcome to the Alliance.” 

 

Inside, Mothma knew with great simplicity what she was doing. It no longer mattered to keep things secret between them. She no longer cared who knew. Her attention was pinned at the tired man who, with his shoulder and chest encased in a mobile bacta-bandage and a wide smile on his face, was watching her come closer.

She leaned over and kissed him. 

His free hand went around her waist, holding her firmly, only letting her withdraw a little when they both needed breath. 

"We can't go on like this," she said, her hands against the pillow. 

"Why not?" he inquired agreeably.

She tried to straighten but found herself immobile. "I mean, I can't go on nearly losing you, Crix. I wanted to die this last time."

"I thought I would," he answered honestly. "When I woke up on the _Paoli_ , I never thought I'd be here. The war's over, Mothma."

"We both know it's not. There will be a lot to do." She tried pushing away again, and his hand tightened possessively.

"What do you suggest then?" he inquired. "No one knows..."

"Everyone knows," she said with a wry smile. "Everyone on the _Alderaan_ and everyone on Endor. There is no secret anymore."

He laughed softly. "You told them?"

"I wanted proof of death this time before I gave up. When they weren't going to give it to me, I made them look."

“You saved me," Madine said soberly. "If Calrissian hadn't shown up, I'd be on the _Armada_ now. "

Mothma took a deeper breath and considered Madine for a moment. Bad arm, bad ribs, bad back and more for all she knew, but a very nice face. And not in pain. "We need to do something about that ship," she said, her thoughts not kind. "It's a danger to the galaxy. And now, for us… I do have to go, Crix."

"Why?" he muttered. "I like it just like this."

She smiled at him, almost said something, then leaned forward and kissed him again, a long deep kiss with her hands slipping down along his throat as possessive as any hand at her back. That hand moved up her back, but before he could take a grip, she disentangled herself, slid away free, licking her lips. 

He blinked. "Where did you learn to do that?" His voice was hoarse. 

"You weren't the only one married," she said smugly, smoothing down her dress where he had rumpled it. The movement outlined her figure. His eyes brightened and she was very glad that they did so. "I know a few things. How long do you have to be here?"

"I don’t know," he replied, his gaze still on her. "The med-droid isn't certain -- "

"I'll wait for you."

"You need to reopen the Senate," he said seriously, surrendering. "I'll come to you on Coruscant."

"I'll meet you there “ She almost laughed, but it came out a low murmur. “Or anywhere, Crix. And soon."

"Soon," he echoed. "As soon as I can."

She turned and walked to the door. 

"I like the dress," he called. “Good color.”

She waved happily. "Goodbye, General." 

"Goodbye, Chancellor."

 

Mothma found a crowd outside. The door slide shut behind her.

The Imperial general was still there talking with Admiral Ackbar and others. With a rush of sheer relief, Mothma saw Ceeli Montesi in the crowd. Her assistant, eyes narrowed, was staring at her gown. 

Mothma wasn't sure of what was going on in that quick mind but she didn’t care. It was such a relief to see the woman again.

"Glad you're back," Ackbar interrupting something General Solo was saying to Colonel Grandia. "There is much to be done now that you are here, Senator."

Mothma felt her backbone stiffen at the unspoken “finally.” The Calamari would take what control he could, but he’d been wrong about Madine and now seemed to be ignoring that. She spread her hands, palms out, and everyone quieted in anticipation. “Then let me start with this. I have brought back from Endor the remains of Darth Vader."

Shock, stony silence. Then someone from the _Alderaan_ cheered, then the Naboo liaison, and the room was full of noise.

Her gaze went to Vesper who she had recognized from their earlier meeting years ago. His lips were pressed together, and he was looking down, frowning. _I would have preferred to tell everyone without him here, but too late._ "General Vesper?” he looked up. “I am glad to see you again for many reasons. Will you help us now?” 

He nodded. "You’ve won, Senator. Let’s make this easy."

 

Leia watched the crowds clustering around Mon Mothma and marveled at how the woman took command of the situation. Her gracious attitude towards Ackbar, despite the problems he’d given her, was a solid façade. Leia was certain that Mothma’s triumph – Madine’s return – would be used against the Calamari sometime in the future, when it would serve her political needs best. Leia saw Montesi at Mon Mothma’s elbow obviously keeping an eye on her. The report that Dubow and Klimet had filed had mentioned the injuries, but Mon Mothma seemed to be holding up. 

Leia’s attention shifted suddenly. Something was calling her, some draw on her energy. Leia turned her back on the loud congratulations and walked down the corridors, looking for someone. 

The pull on her intensified until she walked in a hushed ward where med-droids gliding silently from bed to bed. Their attention focused on her for a second, then went back to their charges. Beings sat beside some of the beds or cradles, keeping their occupants’ company, silent witnesses.

Hospice. No matter the medical miracles, there were some times when death would not be defied. 

Leia walked halfway down the hall until she stood at the foot of bed where a slight figure was lying supine. Only the flashing lights said the Alloran was alive. Her skin was the color of faded parchment and the head feathers had fallen from her skin, leaving fluff on the bed sheet.

"You were the one who told me that he was alive," Leia said quietly. “Who are you?”

The woman didn't move. Only the sheet tucked under her chin moved slightly as she breathed.

“Her name is Shura,” said a neighboring med-droid. “Her neck was broken and we thought she was dead but she has held on."

Princess Leia Organa had seen too much death to have any illusions. Shura was on the very edge. "There's nothing that you can do?"

"General Madine asked the same question," it answered. "He was very emphatic about doing everything we could until he was put under sedation for his own wounds."

Leia felt a twinge of amusement and wasn't sure if it was her own or Shura’s. It had a familiar feeling. "He's safe, Shura,” she said, “and Mon Mothma's with him. He'll be all right."

No response. 

"We don't believe she hears anyone," the 'droid advised. 

Leia stepped to the side of the bed. "She hears me.”

"That isn't possible," the ‘droid contradicted her. 

Leia laid her hand gently on Shura's. The long fingers were fragile and icy cold. She could sense something, a feather touch the sound of wind, and a laugh. 

“What do you want?”

She felt the fingers twitch though she’d swear they never physically moved. Leia blinked, sensing something on the edges of her mind, a link of some kind. The best she could describe it was as color - a bar of cobalt blue, a flash of spring green. She tried to go towards it, to figure it out, but the sensation eluded her, only smoldered in the back of her mind.

"What did you give me?" she asked.

The sound of wind, laughter, happiness, then darkness of a kind Leia had never seen before. And was intrigued by. She stepped towards it. 

“LEIA!” 

She fled backward, out to the world of warmth and life where she stood, shaking. Was that death? Shura was gone -- the lights on the end of the bed were out -- and Leia knew that she had been on the verge of following before her father called her. 

My _father_. Bail. _It was my chosen father who saved me. My father will always be Bail Organa._

She stepped back to let the med-droids in to pronounce death and start the procedures for handling the body. 

The flash of light – blue and green – was still there but she wasn’t going to touch it now, not here. Leia Organa walked away.

 

Mon Mothma paced the cabin ignoring the intimate murmuring between Ceeli and the burly Colonel who sat beside her. She knew their voices were low to prevent her from being interrupted, but it was a constant irritant, one that she could silence with a word -- but didn’t.

Looking out the window she saw the massive fleet that had accompanied her return to Coruscant. So much had happened since Endor. 

So many of the planets of the galaxy had rebelled against the Imperial military that the Alliance was running out of trained diplomats. They had even had to intervene to save some of the overwhelmed Imperial outposts. The smooth transition to democratic rule was anything but. 

The Imperial governors were given a choice: surrender to the nonhuman commanders of the Alliance, or to Crix Madine. It was amazing how the thought of surrendering to the man they considered a traitor made the authorities chose nonhumans to talk with. Admiral Ackbar was in high demand. 

Anton Christof, who’d volunteered to ‘surrender’ to Madine personally, wasn’t taken seriously. The _Armada_ remained a hunted ship, the hub of resistance to the new order. 

_Crix_. She paused for a second halfway across the room and saw Ceeli lift her head. Mon Mothma walked on, ignoring the movement. _I wish he was here. But those injuries – so much more extensive than either of us thought._ The broken shoulder and ribs had healed, the muscles were finally recovering but the over-reaction to the modon had set body and spirit back badly. He was finally taking over the Intelligence post -- too late to accompany her to Coruscant, which is why Grandia was here. Madine would come to her as soon as he could. 

She turned on her heel and walked back noting that Grandia was smiling at Ceeli, who returned his expression -- slightly. How unusual. Mothma never thought the burly officer had charm. Then again, the first time he’d stood out was when he told her the _Crystaline_ had exploded -- hardly the best introduction to the man. Now he was acting as the liaison with the _Alderaan,_ which was still the Alliance command ship, ready to act if the scattered Imperial forces made a strike. 

Maybe he and Ceeli ought to join up. She seemed amenable to the idea, and it would do her good to have some outside interest. _Other than me._

First things first. Her job now was dealing with the new Senate, a Senate without impossibly corrosive and putative influences outside of normal ken. The way she thought it was when she had been a girl newly come to Coruscant, when she still had illusions of just dealing politics, before she learned of the dark overlay, before she knew too much.

The Alliance-on-Coruscant told of the uprising, the pinning of the garrison in their barracks, the riots and anger in the streets, but the city-world had calmed down. Commerce had been restored, entertainment venues reopened. Early diplomats had arrived to re-establish their embassies. The Senate arena had been cleaned, disinfected, searched for explosives and was ready for her arrival. 

A galactic vote on who should be the Chancellor would follow soon. She knew the job was hers for now – no one would challenge her. But in a standard year – with work, with luck – a binding vote on who would be the new Speaker of the Senate would take place. 

Mothma wasn’t sure she wanted that responsibility. So much could happen. 

To be honest, all I really want is this one year. At least right now.

“Ten minutes to landing, Senator,” Ceeli said in a low tone, and Mon Mothma nodded. Ten minutes. Then an escort to the Senate, while half her guard went to secure her prepared presidential suit to make sure they were safe. 

No one on Coruscant had dared to enter the Emperor’s tower, or even his rooms at the Imperial palace. Everything was sealed. _They are Skywalker’s to deal with,_ she thought. _And he’d better come soon._

The shuttle was sinking amid the spires of the city. Traffic had been cleared away but she could see beings lining the balconies and landing docks of nearby buildings. They were cheering. There were flags and banners. 

She felt a surge of relief. They were welcomed. The Alliance-on-Coruscant had said it was so, but who really knew? There was noise behind her; the other officers who had accompanied her had come from the front cabin, their voices rising in triumph as they saw the welcome. Her private moment of reflection was over. She pasted her diplomatic smile on her face. 

“Two minutes,” Grandia called, and she heard stirring behind her as the others stood and made ready. 

Mon Mothma of Chandrila smoothed down her ivory gown and adjusted the insignia of the Senate over her shoulders. 

It was time to start the New Republic.


End file.
